Steeling the Big Apple
by RSteele82
Summary: At the beginning of Beg, Borrow and Steele, we learn Laura and Steele had spent the long weekend attending a wedding in NYC. What a sneaky little tidbit for the writers to provide us, to only follow with no information about what happened while they were there. Whose wedding was it? Who were in attendance? Was there a little romance for our favorite characters? Time to find out!
1. Chapter 1

_**Taking place between Steele in the Running and Beg, Borrow and Steele, Steeling the Big Apple reveals exactly what happened during that trip to New York for a wedding, mentioned at the start of Beg, Borrow.**_

 _ **I can never forget to thank, profusely, my beta reader/editor and friend, that ruthlessly forages through my lengthy writers to find the myriad of pronoun deficiencies while also making certain the voice of the characters remain true. These stories are as much hers and they are mine.**_

 _ **For the best experience when reading my stories, you will want to read them in order as the continuity of events is moved from one story to the next. The following is the order of current stories:**_

 _ **Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On**_  
 _ **Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)**_  
 _ **Steele Mending**_  
 _ **Steele Working out the Details**_  
 _ **Steele Settling In**_  
 _ **Steele Finding Comfort**_  
 _ **Steele Holting on To Christmas**_  
 _ **Steele Holting on To The Holiday**_  
 _ **Holting On To The Moments**_  
 _ **Steele Cold Relief**_  
 _ **Steele Hurdling Obstacles**_  
 _ **Steeling the Big Apple**_  
 _ **Holting Steele (Part I of Be Steele My Heart) – anticipated date of publish 3/31/16)**_  
 _ **Be Steele My Heart – Book 1, Part 2 – anticipated date of republication 4/14/16**_

 _ **As always, if there is anything you would like to see in future stories or a story you would like written, just drop me a line.**_

 _ **I do not own the characters, profit from them, and write purely for the enjoyment, etc and so forth.**_

* * *

(Chapter 1)

It is one of those quirky things, traveling across multiple time zones. Board a plane in London at 7 am, fly eleven hours, and depart the plane in Los Angeles at 10 am. Board a plane in Los Angeles at 9:00 am, fly four and a half hours, and depart the plane in New York City at 4:30 pm. The latter, of course, being the case when Steele and Laura arrived in New York City for Bernice's wedding where Laura was to be in attendance as a bride's maid. By the time they navigated the arrival gates, gathered their luggage and stepped into a taxi they had to flag down, the clock had ticked steadily forward to 5:25 p.m. Laura shook her head in aggravation as she calculated their hotel arrival time. Dinner was scheduled for 6:30 p.m. and then the men were due to start arriving at their hotel suite at 9:00 p.m. for a rather sedate bachelor party of poker, drinks and cigars, while the women were to depart from the same suite, at the same time, for Club 54. When the ride to the hotel was accounted for, they would arrive shortly after 5:00 p.m. leaving them little time for them to dress for dinner, and not a smidgen of time to relax with one another before evening festivities demanded their attention. Even so, Laura virtually fidgeted with excitement about seeing Bernice and Murphy face-to-face for the first time in three years.

"A bit on the antsy side, eh, Miss Holt?" Steele asked, smiling fondly at her. Seldom did Laura let her emotions get the better of her, yet at the moment 'crawling out of her skin' would be an apt description.

"Excited, perhaps." Unlike her body, she had maintained control over her voice, so when she answered, her voice suggested that she was unaffected by the upcoming reunion. Years ago, Steele had coined the phrase 'icy calm' to describe Laura's ability to appear impervious no matter the circumstance. Therefore, he was finding her behavior right now quite… amusing.

It occurred to him after a couple of minutes had passed and her knee continued to bounce, her hands continued to fidget, that it would only be… gentlemanly… to distract her from her obvious distress. It was, therefore, with the most noble of intentions that an arm stretched across her shoulders so that the back of fingers could glide lightly down the side of her neck. When she turned to look at him, he smoothly palmed the back of her neck and drew her lips to his. As his lips danced across hers in a teasing caress, her knee stopped its movement. When his lips settled more firmly atop of hers, and the kiss changed from teasing to tantalizing, her hands stilled and she turned towards him, one of her hands glancing over a shoulder before her fingers tangled in the hair at the side of his head.

When her lips stopped moving beneath his, he pulled away slightly to look down at her. With her eyes, she signaled towards the driver, who was paying more attention to them than the crazy maze of traffic through which he was weaving.

"We've got company," she told him in a hushed undertone. Following her gaze with his own eyes, he watched the driver watch them in the rear view mirror. With a shrug, he drew her closer, his lips hovering over hers.

"Merely admiring my technique," he answered in a matched tone, before brushing his lips lightly across hers.

"And what technique is that?" She touched her lips lightly to his, then withdrew a hairsbreadth away. He gave her a look that implied she'd suddenly gone daft.

"Why the one that gets a beautiful young woman to kiss you in the back of taxi, of course." His teeth gently pulled on her lower lip. He felt her twitch against his hand slung lightly across her waist.

"Does he seem impressed?" As Laura's lips feathered playfully against his, he flicked his eyes towards the rearview mirror again, watched as the driver diverted his eyes.

"Not overly, no." His lips covered hers more fully, the tip of his tongue tracing the shape of her upper lip. Her fingers flexed against his scalp.

"Perhaps we need to switch gears." Pressing the back of his head, she kissed him hard, her tongue flicking playfully against his lips.

"Really rev the engine?" His tongue plundered the recesses of her mouth, then retreated.

"Show him how to put a spark in the plug?" Pushing herself off the seat, she straddled his lap and did some plundering of her own, drawing a soft rumble from his chest. She laughed against his mouth, as she felt the taxi jerk.

 _Ahhhh, bold Laura we meet again._ It took him a second to gather his thoughts.

"Drive him round the bend?" His mouth found the sensitive spot under her ear, where teeth nibbled and a tongue danced. She inhaled sharply, her train of thought briefly sputtered.

"Really overheat his pump?" Leaning down she pushed aside the collar of his partially unbuttoned shirt, and sucked lightly where neck met shoulder. His body flinched against hers. She was catapulted off of his lap when the driver hit the brakes, hard. Steele's hands caught her just before she hit the passenger seat behind her, both of them laughing. Lifting her up, he plopped her back on the seat next to him, then leaned over to whisper against her ear.

"We may well get ourselves killed if we keep this up. Not to mention the effect it's having on _me_."

"I never knew cars had this effect on you, Mr. Steele," she whispered in return. "I might have to be more careful how I handle the gear shift in the future." He groaned low in his throat, as vivid pictures of the action she implied sped through his mind. "Who knows what must go through your mind when you watch me slip the key into the… slot. Or…"

"Lauraaaaa," he growled quietly in warning, as he shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. She laughed softly.

She grinned cheekily as saw him rub both hands up and down his face in growing frustration. He groaned loudly in relief when the taxi stopped in front of the Four Seasons, receiving a commiserating glance in the rear view mirror from the driver. Stepping out of the taxi before her, he secured a couple of buttons on his coat and tied the sash tight at his waist. When he turned to give Laura a hand out of the cab, she wore a self-satisfied smirk, having found a great deal of amusement in his diligent attention to his coat. Assisting her on with her coat, he leaned down as he lifted her hair from underneath the collar, his lips held close to her ear.

"Laura," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her ear, "need I remind you that turnabout's fair play?" When he moved to step back, he found the fingers of a small hand skim across the back of his neck, nudging his head back down. This time it was she that lay her lips alongside his ear, close enough that he could feel them softly brush his ear when she spoke.

"You might want to bear in mind, Mr. Steele, that all's fair in love and war as well." Steele chuckled low in his throat as her hand released him and she took a step away from him. As he stepped forward to lay a hand on the small of her back to escort her into the lobby, he spoke low enough that she barely caught his response.

"That I'll do, Miss Holt. Looking forward to it." Laura glanced at him, a gleam in her eye and an unspoken challenge lifting her lips.

 _It's on, Mr. Steele,_ Laura thought to herself.

And as though reading her thoughts, a response formed in his mind: _Indeed it is, Miss Holt, indeed it is._

* * *

They arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes late, but at least it was within the bounds of "fashionably late." Steele had had a devil of a time getting Laura out of the suite. On their arrival she'd insisted on taking a tour of their home for the long weekend, marveling, as she often did, at Steele's impeccable taste. The one-bedroom suite featured a living room, full dining room – currently set up with a poker table for the evening, and ceiling to floor windows that provided a panoramic view of the city outside. A fireplace offered the promise of perhaps a little romance in front of it, while the fully furnished terrace would provide an enticing place to enjoy her morning coffee. The bedroom was no less opulent with its king sized bed donned in luxurious white and beige bedding, small sitting area, and yet more floor-to-ceiling windows. The master bath was marble throughout, including the soaking tub that Laura thought might be large enough to take laps in, and sported double sinks, a separate shower, in floor heat, and heated towel racks. Heaven. As always, he'd outdone himself.

Despite the number of times Steele had taken a pointed glance at his watch while changing into a suit for dinner, Laura occupied herself with carefully unpacking and organizing their clothes, despite his insistence that they could unpack together, later. He knew there was little chance in her heeding the suggestion as her compulsive neatness would not allow for things to remain in suitcases while they went out for the evening. Even when he'd finally managed to wheedle her into getting dressed for the evening, he knew there would be more delays as she checked over their room and belongings before she'd be able to leave. It was only because of the large tip he'd promised the cab driver that they'd made it to the restaurant when they had.

Truth be told, he'd not minded the extra fifteen minutes. While Laura was thrilled to be seeing Murphy again, he was not. Murphy had always made it patently clear that he did not trust Steele and that he believed Laura would be better off without Steele in her life. For nearly three years he'd not had to contend with Murphy's condescension, his sidelong glances, his voice in Laura's ear feeding her doubts and insecurities. With their future finally wide open before them and its possibilities boundless, the last thing Laura needed was for Murphy to send her spiraling into self-doubt, which in turn would make her question all that they had been building together the last three years in general, but the last eight months most especially. No, he was not looking forward to that particular reunion at all.

Unbeknownst to Steele, Laura was, in her own rights, hesitant about the weekend. Excited, absolutely, but hesitant all the same. While Bernice had proven a good friend over the years, providing her with advice and self-confidence when needed, whenever she and Murphy spoke he never failed to speak his mind about Steele. Needless to say, none of his opinions were favorable, but rife with reminders of

Steele's past, colloquialisms like "a leopard can't change his spots," and warnings that if push-came-to-shove, Steele would save his own hide and leave her to her own devices. As much as she loved Murphy, those particulars portions of their conversations had grown wearying over the years. So much so, that she had made the decision before embarking on this trip, that if headed down the same, tired old road while they were here in New York City, she was going to have to sit down with him and have a long talk.

Still, when they arrived at the restaurant, all of that was forgotten for the moment. While she could not miss the cool greeting between the two men as they shook hands, she'd hugged Murphy warmly, and he her, when they'd arrived. Steele in turn had smiled and chuckled as he'd watched his normally refined and restrained partner squeal like a school girl at seeing Bernice, both women more than a bit giddy about seeing each other for the first time in three years. Surprisingly, dinner, all-in-all, had been a successful venture and by 7:30, they were heading back to the hotel to prepare for the next round of the festivities.

Starting a fire and flicking on the radio so that soft jazz filtered through the rooms, Steele changed into dark grey jeans and a black, grey and red checked casual button down shirt for the evening while Laura ensconced herself in the bathroom to prepare for the girls' night on the town. Wandering into the main rooms of the suite, he verified there was an ample selection and amount of beer, bourbon and scotch at the bar, that there were a sufficient number of poker chips and that a new pack of cards was waiting at the table. Then, left to his own devices and despite the chill in the air, he wandered to the front door of the suite and leaving it open a crack so their guests could enter freely, he made his way onto the terrace where he could enjoy the city lit up before him.

Slipping an earring onto her ear, Laura emerged from the bedroom and scanned the main room looking for Steele. While the room was empty, a cool draft of air from the open terrace door gave her a clue as to where he'd wandered off. Leaning against the door jamb she took in the view before her. The view of the man, not the city which was acting as a backdrop behind him. Her eyes wandered over him from the top of his head to the white Nikes he wore on his feet. She felt her blood heating, while her heart did a funny little pitter-patter in her chest. Her fingers twitched with the need to thread themselves through his hair, across the shoulders that had broadened over the years, then down his irresistible torso that tapered off at slim hips and long, lean legs. Her eyes paused, wishing the long shirt didn't conceal the firm bottom that sent her pulse pounding any time she stopped to give it an admiring glance. A sane woman would bolt the door to the suite, then keep him in bed until he begged for mercy, she thought to herself. Then sighed softly, knowing that she would always put obligations ahead of her desires, and tonight she had a bachelorette party to attend then tomorrow a wedding and all the fanfare that followed.

He'd turned to lean his back end against the terrace railing the moment he'd heard her sigh. He watched, while she was lost in thought, as a parade of emotions crossed her face: want then desire, longing then regret. It was now his turn to admire her. The off-the shoulder, long sleeved black dress clung to her slim frame emphasizing the curve of her breasts, her slim waist and the gentle flare of her hips. The skirt ended mid-thigh, highlighting the shapely legs he adored, which were displayed in their finest in black stilettos. For Laura, the outfit was positively racy, reminding him somewhat of the hooker get up that he'd dressed her in during the dental convention years before and simultaneously set his blood on fire while making him seriously consider locking her in the suite for the evening, lest other men find the outfit as desirable as he.

This time it was he caught staring, and yet his eyes never left her. With a twirl of his finger, he indicated she should turn around and give him full view of the dress. A smile on her face, she did just that, a pleased flush pinkening her skin as she took in his hungry look of approval.

"You're absolutely ravishing," he told her with a sincerity that could not be debated. Had she any doubt, the desire in his bright blue eyes would have dispelled them. She smiled at him, confident in both what she wore and how she looked in it. It was one of the things Steele admired most about her. Although issues of abandonment plagued her, Laura Holt knew precisely who she was, what she was, and she carried herself with a confidence that few women achieved.

As the last strains of Doris Day's _Again_ hung in the air, he moved to her and held out a hand.

"May I have the honor of the first dance of the evening, Miss Holt?" A wide smile spread across her face as she slipped her hand into his and stepped into his waiting embrace. Wrapping an arm around her waist, as the first notes of Tony Bennett's _For Once in My Life_ wafted across the terrace, he tucked their joined hands against his chest. Had Steele himself orchestrated the moment, it could not have been more perfect. As Bennett crooned the first stanza of the song, their eyes caught and held.

" _For once in my life I have someone who needs me,  
Someone I've needed so long.  
For once unafraid I can go where life leads me and somehow I know I'll be strong."_

Their clasped hands released one another, to stroke against each other, fingers entwining, unwinding then weaving together again in a dance of their own as they lost themselves in the words and the enchanting melody that enveloped them in its embrace. Her hand feathered across his shoulder then pressed against the back of his neck lightly. His head bent and their lips touched, withdrew, touched again.

" _For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of  
Long before I knew someone warm like you  
Who have made my dreams come true."_

Her fingers gently tousled the hair at the nape of his neck before journeying through the silken strands, and palming the back of his head. Their lips touched, lightly exploring their taste and texture, before his meandered away to flutter along her jaw, returning to her lips to linger for long moments. Her hand left his hair to feather across his neck then rest against his jaw, as her lips found his neck. His head nuzzled the top of hers while her lips wandered across his skin.

" _For once I have someone I know won't desert me  
I'm not alone anymore."_

As her lips left his neck, his found hers, journeying from the hollow of her throat up the long column as her fingers knotted in the back of his hair, her eyes closed and lips parted against the sensation. Unable to resist the call of her lips, his covered them with his own, his tongue dipping into her mouth for a quick taste before his lips left hers again.

" _For once I can say this is mine you can't take it  
As long as I know I have love I can make it  
For once in my life I have someone who needs me"_

She ceased the interplay of their hands when her hand left his to skim up his chest and over his shoulders, her arms looping around his neck while his lips pressed a series of soft kisses across her brow. He gathered her closer and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Have I told you lately how glad I am we're together?" he asked quietly. Laura tilted her head back. Lying her hand against his cheek, her thumb stroking his skin, she looked into his eyes, lost herself in them.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." His feet stopped moving and Laura watched as the intensity of his emotions at her words crossed his face, darkening his eyes. A hand found the back of her neck, cupping it.

"Come here, Laura," his gravelly voice implored. She pressed herself closer to him, a hand moving to lie flat against his chest, as she tilted her lips up to his. With a soft hum, his lips settled over hers then froze, his eyes shifting to look over her shoulder, lips still connected, when he heard a sound nearby that was out of place on the quiet terrace. His eyes met Bernice's. With a quick twitch of his lips against Laura's he straightened. "Good evening, Miss Wolf." Laura started and turned around at his words, in time to see a flash of irritation cross Bernice's face.

"Fox. It's… Oh, never mind." At Laura's wide smile, Bernice relaxed to lean against the door jamb, from where, unbeknownst to either of them, she had watched them dance. She watched as Steele's hand stole around Laura's waist, and her friend took an imperceptible step backwards to settle herself against him. A smile played at Bernice's lips. "We knocked, and just decided to come on in when there wasn't an answer," she explained.

"Sorry, Bernice," Laura apologized. "We must not have heard over the music. Has anyone else arrived?" Laura smiled as Steele lifted her hand and swept his lips across her knuckles before stepping away from her and heading into the suite to greet any future arrivals.

"We brought Jimmy and Jeff with us," Bernice told her, referring to her husband-to-be's brothers and groomsmen. She walked across the terrace to look out over the city, then down at the street below. "My sisters will be meeting us at 54. So we're just waiting on Murphy and Sherry." Bernice turned and looked at Laura. "This is some set up you have here."

"Mmmm," Laura agreed, joining Bernice at the rail. "It's a beautiful suite. He's always had impeccable…and lavish, I might add… taste."

"I'll say," Bernice laughed. "The magnum of champagne said it all." Laura laughed with her at the memory, before looping her arm through Bernice's.

"Come on. I'll give you the tour." They wandered the suite, Bernice suitably impressed by everything ranging from panoramic view to the luxurious bedroom accommodations. Yet, like Laura earlier, it was the tub that had her turning green.

"If we had that tub in our room back at the hotel, Jason wouldn't be able to pry me out of it for the wedding tomorrow," Bernice noted, drawing Laura's laugh. Laura pushed herself up on the bathroom counter to sit.

"If you asked him to join him, he might not mind." Bernice hoisted herself up on the counter as well, and gave Laura the once over.

"How?"

"How what?"

"How do you not grab his tie with your teeth and drag the man into bed?" Laura flashed a dimple at her friend.

"Oh, I plan to. In a little over three weeks from now, he's not going to know what hit him. I'm locking us in his apartment for a week and if either of us are able to walk by the end of it, it won't be from lack of effort."

"Why wait? Laura, you're here, he's here, go for it." Laura bit her lip and gave Bernice a sideways glance.

"You know why. It's not as if we've not discussed it." Bernice rolled her eyes.

"The pill. Your doctor recommends a full cycle of them before… engaging. Yada, yada. Laura, there are these things called condoms – come in a foil packet, you can buy them at almost any store around, very effective when used correctly," she pointed out pragmatically. Laura shrugged her shoulders.

"I know what a condom is Bernice. They're what I always relied on before. I don't want that for Remington and I." Bernice's mouth fell open.

"Remington?" she asked, her surprise obvious in her voice. She gave a small shake of her head. "We'll get back to that. "What's the big deal about a condom? As you said, they're what you always relied on before. You never had any… accidents. If it were me, and that drop-dead gorgeous man looked at me like he was looking at you tonight? I'd be ripping off his clothes, slapping that condom on and making sure we both had our teeth rattled tonight." Laura tilted her head back and laughed, then grew serious again.

"I can't believe I'm going to tell you this," Laura murmured. Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward. "I don't want _anything_ between us. I want to be able to touch him whenever I wish, not a condom. Him. I want to feel all of _him_ , not latex – every single nuance. I want him to feel all of me, not lose part of his pleasure because of a condom. I want to taste him, him to taste me, not chemicals. I don't want us to have to stop to… attend… to switching them out." She shook her head and gave a quiet groan of frustration as a blush spread along her skin. "This is important to me. No barriers. Just us. Do you understand?"

Bernice stared at her. "I'm not sure if that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard or the most foolish... But, yeah, I understand."

Steele stumbled to a stop in the doorway of the bathroom. He'd come to let Laura and Bernice know that Murphy and Sherry had arrived, so the evening's festivities could begin. He'd had no idea he would be breaching Laura's privacy, and having done so unintentionally he felt heat suffusing his skin. That his body had reacted viscerally to her words he'd overheard only made matters all the worse. A quick glance at Laura showed she was as mortified as he based on her coloring. Looking away from her, he swiped at his hair.

"Murphy and Sherry arrived," he managed to get out, before scurrying away.

Bernice and Laura looked at one another. When Bernice's lips started twitching as she tried not to laugh, they both gave up and peals of laughter filled the bathroom.

"I don't care about what happens at my bachelorette party tonight, Laura, I swear to you. Seeing Skeeziks blush has made my night. I would have _never_ believed _he_ could be embarrassed over sex talk. You? Sure. Him? _Priceless_." Bernice laughed harder, if that was even possible. "I think I would give up my second born if I could tell Murphy what just happened."

Laura sat up straight at even the thought. "Bernice, don't you _dare_ repeat a word of this to anyone, _especially_ Murphy."

"You know better than that," Bernice assured her. "What's said in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom. Hasn't that always been our rule?" Bernice scooted herself off the counter. "Let's grab Sherry and get out of here. My sisters are going to kill me for making them wait in line for hours as it is."

Laura dropped down off the counter gracefully and followed Bernice into the living room. Bernice made a beeline for Jason, while Laura cast a hesitant look at Steele. She felt the flush crawling up her skin again. Fully recovered himself and seeing her pinkened cheeks, he raised a brow at her in amusement. Relieved that all was well, she went to join him at his side. A round of greetings, a couple of minutes of small talk, and the women said their goodbyes to the men. Steele followed Laura into the bedroom on the premise of helping her with her coat, quietly closing the bedroom door behind them. She turned and gave him a curious frown. Leaning on an arm against the wall, he neatly trapped her between wall, door and him.

"What's on your mind, Mr. Steele?" she hummed, keeping her expression carefully blanked lest he bring up the conversation he overheard. The backs of his fingers traced a path down her cheek then neck, stirring her body.

"A proper goodbye kiss," he told her, bending his head, his lips hovering only an inch from hers when he stopped. Her fingers threaded through his hair to press against the back of his head.

"I think that can be arranged," she murmured before she brushed her lips over his. He lifted his head and looked at her skeptically. A crease formed between her brows.

"A perfectly acceptable goodbye kiss for a lad you like in primary school," he commented blandly. She pursed her lips and lifted a brow at him, then drew his head back down to hers again. Her lips tantalized, teased and tasted, before she ended the kiss with a gentle nip on his bottom lip. He smacked his lips several times, while pretending to consider the quality of the kiss.

"Mid-secondary school, perhaps." She knew what he was up to at the outset and called him on it now.

"Perhaps a demonstration of a proper goodbye kiss is in order then?" she challenged, dimples flashing.

"I suppose I could show you the error of your ways," he teased. His lips grazed hers as a hand slid behind her neck, nudging her closer to him. His lips settled over hers, the kiss becoming more firm in gradual increments. When he heard her soft hum, he skimmed the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, encouraging her to open for him. The moment she did, his tongue glanced across the back of her teeth before stroking hers, the kiss gaining in both firmness and ardor. He waited until he felt her move closer to him, then grasped a cheek of her bottom in each hand lifting her upwards into his arms. With a small moan, her arms tightened around his neck as her legs wrapped around his hips. A hand found a cloth-covered breast as he backed her up until she was pressed against the wall. Circling his hips, he ground against her, her hands clutching at his head, her legs tightening around his buttocks. Another circular motion had her crying out softly into his mouth, telling him she was at the edge of the precipice and ready to go over with little more stimulation. Ending the kiss, he carefully lowered her back down until her feet touched the floor. He held her arms, allowing her to find her equilibrium before stepping away. Laura watched him, dazed, her body on fire, needing him to finish what he had started.

Instead, he walked to the closet and pulled out her coat, then held it up for her to slip into. She shoved her arms into the sleeves on auto-pilot, the humming of her body nearly driving her insane. With a kiss against her neck, Steele lay his lips next to her ear.

"Turnabout, Miss Holt," he whispered, "Turnabout". Stepping away he headed towards the bedroom door, while Laura sputtered where she stood. Before opening the door, he turned to give her a smug smile. Simultaneously trying to calm her edgy body and grinding her teeth, Laura gave him a look that would have most men either looking for cover or hitting their knees begging for absolution. Steele being Steele, lifted a mocking brow and pursed his lips quickly at her. With a quick swipe at his mouth to remove any traces of her lipstick, he left the room.

Laura took a deep breath, carefully schooling her countenance to appear nothing was amiss and calmly followed behind. Bernice looked at Laura as they headed towards to door to the suite, noting her swollen lips, glazed eyes and flushed skin, then at Steele who was smirking in amusement and tried to smother a laugh. Laura was the last of the ladies out the door and made it a point to close it with a slam that let Steele know the game was far from over.

Turning towards the men in the room Steele rubbed his hands together. "Shall we get the game underway then, gentleman." Four sets of eyes peered at him, then the door. It was, of course, Murphy who broke the silence with a laugh.

"It appears some things never change, Steele. I'd hate to be you when Laura gets back. You're a dead man." Steele gave him a smug smile.

"Fiery woman, our Miss Holt. I've no doubt she'll give it to me when she returns," he responded as he walked towards the poker table.

Murphy started laughing as he took a seat, then catching Steele's underlying meaning gave Steele a glare that was blithely ignored. The only comeback that came to mind was, "Deal the cards Steele and no cheating."

Steele looked at him blithely as he began to shuffle the cards. "Wouldn't even consider it, Murphy. Remington Steele's a man of honor."

* * *

At shortly after 1:30 a.m. the heads of Murphy, Jason and Steele all turned simultaneously towards the front door. Jimmy and Jeff had lost out, and left, some hour and a half before, leaving only three still standing. Murphy was steeping with anger, certain that Steele had been cheating the last hour or so, as his pile of chips, once substantial, had dwindled down significantly, while Jason and Steele's had increased in size. The anger was forgotten for a moment, as a smile quirked on the lips of all three men as they listened to a rather bawdy and clearly drunk version of The Rolling Stones' _I Can't Get No Satisfaction_ coming from the door to the suite was slung open and Bernice, Sherry and Laura, arms slung around one another and still singing entered the suite.

The game was put on pause while the three men rose to greet their fiancé, wife and partner. The women had enjoyed a night of drink and dance. Bernice was three sheets to the wind, Sherry not far behind, while Steele, after a perusing glance over Laura, determined she was slightly off-balance and clearly enjoying a pleasant buzz, but had not reached near the level of drunkenness of the other two. Truth-be-told, it had taken a number of Jello shots and shots of Sex on the Beach – the first several knocked back with comments under her breath of 'that man' and 'all's fair' - to calm her edgy body after her 'goodbye kiss' from Steele. Watching him now, as he prepared cups of coffee from the pot he'd had sent up by room service about an hour before in anticipation of just this scene, a tongue flicked against her lips hungrily. She determined then and there he would finish what he started before they went to bed tonight and that a mind-blowing orgasm (or better yet two…or three) coupled with the alcohol she'd consumed would lead to a good night's sleep.

Placing a mug of coffee in her hands, Steele caught the lusty look on Laura's face. Leaning down he brushed a kiss along her cheek and whispered, "Don't worry, we'll be taking care of that." As he stepped around her to deliver the other two mugs of coffee to Bernice and Sherry, a hand grabbed the tail of his shirt and hauled him back.

"Damn right you will," she told him in half-warning, half-anticipation. Laughing, he took the coffee to the other women when Laura released him.

Kicking off her heels, Laura padded in stockinged feet across the room and flipped on the radio. Searching the channels, she went to sit with Bernice and Sherry after Prince's _When Doves Cry_ began pounding through the room. Steele made a detour past the radio, turning it down to an acceptable decibel given the hour, then rejoined the men at the table. Five minutes later, Murphy sputtered in outrage amidst a string of curses.

"Laura, you better deal with Steele, or I swear to you I'm gonna kill him. I don't know how he's doing it, yet, but he's been cheating half the night."

With a laugh, Laura stood and walked a bit unsteadily over to the table where the men continued to play. Laying a hand on Steele's shoulder, she watched as Murphy dealt the next round of cards, then keenly observed as the hand played out. With another muttered curse, Murphy slapped his cards down on the table, folding. At the hand's conclusion, Jason swept the pile of the chips at the center of the table towards himself with a grin. The corner of Laura's lips twitched as she suspected that Murphy was right and Steele was indeed cheating. She wasn't sure how yet, but was determined to find out.

While the next hand was being dealt, Steele felt her sway on her feet and grab at his shoulder to steady herself. Grasping the hand on her shoulder in his, he guided her around to sit down on his lap then readjusted himself so his cards were held between them. Laura frowned at him even as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Neither of them took note of Murphy's startled glance in their direction. Bending over she told him in a whisper, "I'm not a doll to be perched upon a man's lap, Mr. Steele." He chuckled quietly.

"Merely trying to give you the best vantage point of my cards, Miss Holt." Laura cocked her head, considered what he said, then settled in on his lap. His lips twitched. _Ahhh, a soused Miss Holt is a pliant Miss Holt, what a novel idea._

Laura watched as the next four hands played out. Murphy took the first with a whoop and a grin. "Can't cheat now, can you Steele, with Laura sitting right there." Steele had merely cocked a brow at him, never uttering a word. The next three hands saw Murphy uttering strings of oaths once more, as one went to Steele and two to Jason.

Steele felt Laura imperceptibly straighten in his lap as the last hand played out. His hand brushed against her knee, acknowledging he knew she'd figured out what he was doing. She smothered a small laugh and leaned her head down next to his lips at the tap of his fingers on her knee.

"A little wedding gift," he murmured into her ear. Her fingers toyed with the hair at the back of his neck in answer. Steele had been reading the marked cards, forcing the pot higher when Murphy's hand could not beat his or Jason's. He'd take a round here or there, to allay suspicion, but often folded with the stronger of hands, sending the pot Jason's way. After another half dozen hands, putting Murphy within a hand or two of busting, he felt Laura going slack against his body, heard her smother a yawn. Another tap of her knee, and she bent her head down again.

"Go take a shower, you reek of smoke from the club. I'll see everyone out." Laura gave a small nod, then gained her feet unsteadily. Bidding everyone a good night, she went into their bedroom and closed the door behind her. Stripping down on her way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes in her wake, Laura stepped under the steaming spray of the shower. A little tipsy though she might still be, her shoulders and lower back ached from hours of dancing and she hoped the warm water would help to work out some of the kinks. It was only when she recognized the futility that she climbed out of the shower, dried off and went into the bedroom to pull on a pair of panties and one of Steele's pajama tops. Sitting down on the end of the bed, she hung her head and rubbed at the back of her neck, trying to get the tension to release.

The quiet snick of the bedroom door opening had her turning her head to watch as Steele crossed the room, his eyes on her. Sitting down on the bed next to her, he brushed her hand away from the back of her neck and replaced it with his own.

"Overdo it tonight, did you?" Laura gave him a crooked smile.

"In both dancing and drinking, I'm afraid." He nodded at her as his sensitive fingers identified the knotted muscles in her shoulders, the tightness of her neck.

"Sore?" She nodded.

"Nothing a couple of aspirin and a good night's sleep won't cure.

"Mmmm hmmm," he hummed skeptically in answer, then stood and walked to the top of the bed to pull comforter and top sheet down. "Off with the shirt and have a lie down. I'll be back in just a moment." Laura bowed her head and turned to look at his back as he retreated to the bathroom, grateful for his thoughtfulness that was such second nature to him. Unbuttoning his shirt, she stood up and slipped out of it, lying it the end of the bed, then stretched out on her stomach to wait for him. When she heard the shower come on, she allowed her mind to drift.

She hated it when anyone tried to molly-coddle her. She was a strong woman who enjoyed the fact that she could stand on her own two feet. Took great pride in it, as a matter of fact. It was one of the things she most appreciated about Steele. He wasn't going to stick around to boost her over a fence, he was going to vault over it and then turn to look at her expectantly to do the same. Unlike most men, even Murphy at times, he had never doubted her abilities to keep pace with him. He'd never called her out for taking too many risks. Until, of course, last week during the Grey case, when he'd pointed out that it was one thing to take a risk when your partner was there to back you up and quite another when you put your neck on the line and there was no one there to make sure you walked out unscathed.

Yet there was something to be said about someone who didn't want to coddle you, but take care of you. She was beginning to understand the difference between the two. The first implied lack of faith you could care for yourself, while the latter implied caring enough about someone to want to make their life a little better, a little easier, to relieve them of discomfort. _And he's so good at it. Always ready to whip me up a hot meal, draw me a bath after a long day, and to rub the aches and pains out of my body when needed._

Not for the first time in recent weeks, she recognized her own flaws in that area. What was it Steele had once told her? He was never sure if he was going to get Nurse Ratched or an angel of mercy when she tended to his wounds. _He's not wrong in that,_ she reflected again now. _The more scared I am, the rougher I am with him._ She sighed regretfully, and again promised herself to remember to take more care in the future, to treat him the way he did her when injured or in pain.

She felt the bed shift next to her, as Steele sat down beside her. Opening her eyes, she let her eyes roam over him. Wearing only his pajama bottoms, her eyes gazed appreciatively at his torso, his still wet hair. _Funny how fast this has become the norm between us. A testament, likely, to the fact that we've spent more time in each other's company the last four years than most married couples do on a daily basis._ She watched as he poured a little massage oil into his hand, then capping the bottle, set it aside before rubbing his hands together to warm the liquid. When dexterous fingers dug into to the first knotted muscle, she hummed in anticipation of the relief that would follow.

"So, wedding present huh?" Laura asked. "Did Murphy catch on?"

"Laura, you offend me even by asking," he answered in mock outrage. "Of course not. Suspected, as you well know. Couldn't prove a thing."

"How much did you hit him for?" She asked, lifting her brow, even though her eyes were closed as his fingers massaged, dug in, then smoothed.

"Buy in was a hundred a piece. Jason, won it all. Seemed quite shocked for some reason."

"I bet," she laughed. "Bernice has always said he has no poker face."

"Mmmm, she's quite right in that. The man would be hard pressed to con a child still in their nappies into giving up their lolly." Laura laughed quietly under his hands, then inhaled sharply as his fingers found a particularly sore spot below her shoulder blades. "Did you enjoy yourself this evening?"

"I did. I haven't gone out dancing like that in a long time. Some things never change though." His hands moved down to her mid-back, wringing a sigh of contentment from her. Leaning over he, bussed the back of her neck, then returned to the job at hand.

"How so?" he queried.

"Clubs like that are still a meat market," she answered with a shrug of her shoulders, her answers coming slower as aching muscles began to relax under his probing fingers.

"Caught the eye of a few blokes then, did you? Can't say I'm surprised given that little number you were wearing this evening," he smiled.

"Caught, had tossed at me," she murmured.

"Had tossed at you? You'll have to explain that one I'm afraid." She jumped slightly when his fingers plied a knot in her lower back. "Hmmm, don't worry. We'll take care of that," he assured her quietly. She relaxed again under his hands.

"I was the only one of us that wasn't married or engaged. So the guys were tossed at me by the other girls." Steele frowned slightly, annoyed by the little spot of jealousy that twanged his nerves

"Full dance card all night then, eh?" His splayed hands ran up her back, searching for any other tender areas. When she flinched as a hand crossed below her shoulder, his fingers settled in there to work some more

"No, not really." She spoke slowly, sleepily, but was determined to hang on so they could spend some quality time together, working out some itchiness, if you will. "Mostly danced by myself or with one of the girls."

"Ah, sent the poor sods packing did you?"

"The words 'I'm committed' tend to act as repellant for all except the most determined," she yawned, as he flashed a pleased smile that she'd chosen to make her unavailability clear. "Then again, so does a heel in the foot of the more handsy ones." He raised a brow, and nodded, all too familiar with that particular trick of hers. Had the words 'more handsy' not been used to describe her victims he may have felt more sympathetic towards the men. Possibly. Maybe not at all. He shrugged.

"Yet, still, all-in-all a rollicking good time, eh?" He waited for her answer, but then when he heard the soft, stuttering sigh that passed her lips, he knew she'd fallen off to sleep. With a shake of his head and a grin, he took a moment to lament the opportunities for the night ahead that had been lost, then took yet another moment to admire her small frame lying stretched out on the bed next to him, wearing nothing but a pair of panties. He briefly – very, very briefly – considered waking her to help her slide back into his pajama top, then discarded that idea as outright lunacy. Turning off the bedroom light he slid into the bed next to her, pulling the sheet up around them as he did.

Without waking, Laura sensed his prone body near hers and reached for him. Shifting over, Steele slid his body partially under her then waited while she turned into him, settling her head on his chest, and wrapping an arm across him. Sweeping a stray strand of hair out of his mouth, he leaned down and pressed his lips against the top of her head, then settled in to allow his mind to drift, while a hand stroked her arm.

 _If someone had told me five years ago that a cheeky little American lass would not only drive me bloody well barmy whilst wrapping me 'round her finger, I'd have told them they'd gone off their trolley. No,_ he corrected himself, _I'd have wagered a substantial bit of blunt to the contrary._ He looked down at Laura, and swept her hair back off her face. _I'd have lost my shorts,_ he acknowledged with a quiet chuckle.

As sleep began to encroach upon him, his thoughts began to ramble. First back to LA and a little something he'd had stashed there waiting until the right time. To the day they'd first met in what would be his office at the Agency. Then to their first dance, in which she'd displayed her fiery temper for the first time. Which, of course, inevitably led to memories of the dance they shared tonight. But the last thought on his mind when sleep finally claimed him was of the enticing little games they'd played – first in the cab, later in this room. He couldn't help but think as much as he enjoyed the bold Laura, playful Laura was a delight in and of herself.

(Continued)


	2. Chapter 2

(Chapter 2)

Laura's eyes drifted open as she stretched like a cat in his arms. Typical of how she found herself in the mornings when she spent the night with him, she was spooned into his body, her feet tucked in between his legs, one of his arms wrapped across her waist the hand resting against her hip, and the hand of the other arm? As expected, cupping her breast. She was baffled for a moment to find herself wearing only a scant pair of panties. _Backrub,_ she remembered, then felt a moment of remorse when she realized she must have fallen asleep on him. That would explain the poking going on at her nether side, she realized with a small chuckle. Lips lifting in a mischievous smile, as she considered a most delightful way to wake the man behind her while having the handy little side effect of relieving what was clearly a large, pressing need of his. Her eyes wandered to the alarm clock, to determine how long they would have to play…

Laura bolted up in the bed, tossing Steele's arms off of her in the process.

"Oh, no!" she cried out, lunging out of the bed and scrambling out of the bed towards the closet. Steele shot to his feet, looking around for whatever miscreant, whatever danger must be lurking in the room.

"What? What is it, Laura?" His heart was pounding as adrenaline surged at the sound of her panic.

"It's seven forty-five!" she told him urgently, while ripping a pair of pants off a hanger and shoving her legs into them. Steele paused to look at her as though she'd lost her mind before falling back into bed.

"I know you like to rise early, Laura, but really, it's not sleeping in until it's well after the ten o'clock hour," he told her, clearly cranky for the interruption to his sleep. Turning back onto his side, he drew the sheet up around him and sat back up sputtering when a pair of pants hit him in the head. "What the bloody hell, Laura?!" he demanded, put out now.

"Breakfast with everyone at 8:30, remember? Church at 9:30? Wedding at 11? Reception at 12:30? It's _seven forty-five_ , Mr. Steele. We should have been up an hour ago. We should be in a cab, _right now_!"

"Will you calm down?" he asked, annoyance and ebbing adrenaline putting a harsher edge on his words than he'd intended. "It's breakfast, not the wedding itself." He rubbed at his bleary eyes, then stripping his pajama bottoms shoved a leg into his pants. Laura quickly secured the buttons of her shirt and ruthlessly tucked it into her pants, while shoving bare feet into a pair of heels

"It's her wedding breakfast. I'm a bridesmaid. It's my responsibility to be there." Grabbing a suit jacket from the closet, she shoved her arms in as she hurried towards the bathroom. Steele wandered in behind her, pulling out razor and shaving cream. As he lathered up he watched as she attacked her hair with a brush, yanking it up into a ponytail almost brutally. He couldn't help but wonder how she had any hair left on her head after she was done. Turning, she rushed back out of the bathroom, as he noted a missed chunk of hair hanging down, not caught by the band. He opened his mouth to tell her, then clamped it shut, rather certain she might skewer him with the closest instrument at hand if he said anything at all.

In the bedroom, Laura took her garment bag sheathed bridesmaid dress from the closet and tossed it on the bed before snatching up the receiver of the phone. Dialing down to the front desk, she requested they have a cab ready to pick them up in five minutes. A quick grab at her overnight bag saw her shoving bra, shoes and stockings into it, before she returned to the bathroom. She flashed an annoyed glance at Steele, noting he was not yet finished shaving.

"Cab's picking us up in about four minutes now. You need to get a move on," she snarked at him, as she tossed makeup, brush and hair product into her bag. Rinsing off his razor and setting it on the counter, he began chanting to himself _icy calm, old sport, icy calm. Losing your temper will serve neither of you well._ Taking a deep breath and wiping his face down with a towel, he turned to her.

"Laura, if we left ten minutes from now, we would be no later than we normally would be," he tried to point out logically. She saw red at his words. Grabbing her bags from the bed, she stormed from the room, Steele on her heels once more. He caught her by the arm before she could open the front door.

"Laura, stop, just stop. What's gotten into you?" Pulling her arm out of his hand, she yanked open the door of the suite, slamming it into his bare foot in the process.

"Two minutes, Mr. Steele," she told him, then slammed the door behind her, leaving Steele hopping around on one foot, grabbing at the bruised one, while flicking his other hand at the door in utter frustration.

* * *

Laura had given him three minutes – from door to cab. When there was no sign of him after the third minute had ticked past, she'd given him another two. After five minutes had passed, she told the driver to head towards the restaurant. She stewed the first twenty minutes of the drive. As calm descended and rationality returned, guilt began to set in. _There are times I don't know what is wrong with me. I was upset with myself, but, once again, took it out on him… Good job, Holt,_ she gave herself a sarcastic pat on the back in her mind, _the man spends who knows how long working out the kinks in your muscles, you fall asleep on him, then he wakes to a raving lunatic. Damn my temper, anyway,_ she sighed. By the time she reached the restaurant she was resigned to the fact there would be a round of questions about where Steele was, and she realized she had no idea, whatsoever, what she'd say.

* * *

Steele never even attempted to either give chase or to meet Laura within her two-minute warning period. Big toe throbbing from where the door had hit it, he gimped his way across the living room to the bar in the dining room. Fishing a couple of ice cubes out of the freezer in the mini fridge, he wrapped them in a bar towel then tottered over to the couch where he propped the injured foot up on the coffee table. Setting the ice atop his toes, he leaned back against the couch and threw and arm over his eyes.

 _Hell of a thing being woken up by a shrieking woman, believing something terrible had come about only to find out all the fuss was over waking a little late. Then to find yourself with a face full of your own pants?_ He chuckled mirthlessly. _Adding insult to injury that is. Well, if she thinks for even a moment that I'm going to go racing off across town in chase of her, the woman's lost what little sense she has left after this morning._

He managed to hold tight to his righteous indignation for fifteen minutes or so. When he felt it beginning to wane, he lifted the ice from his foot and stared at his now swollen and black and blue toe, willing his irritation to return. Instead, he thought about Laura arriving at the restaurant, alone, the inevitable questions that she'd face, the flush that would spread across her skin in her embarrassment, making those glorious freckles stand out. Then as the day waned on that humiliation would turn to anger, and by the time she arrived back at the hotel that afternoon she'd either freeze him out cold or he'd face a fury that would make this morning look like a gentle wake up call.

With a sigh, he removed the ice bag from his foot, then stood and walked gingerly to the bedroom to get ready. He absolutely refused to believe his choice had anything to do with having a furious Miss Holt on his hands. No, he preferred to believe it was the memories of those freckles that had him capitulating now.

Those freckles and the alarm clock he could have set, avoiding all of this.

* * *

Laura had plastered a smile on her face throughout breakfast. When asked where Steele was, she'd said he was tied up at the hotel, on the phone with a client who was angrily demanding an update on their case. Everyone had bought the excuse, thankfully. Everyone except Murphy, of course, who she'd caught several times throughout the meal staring at her, his face reflecting his concern. When breakfast was over, the party had gathered outside to flag down several cabs to take them to the club house where the wedding and reception were to take place. Murphy had neatly handed her into a cab, he and then Sherry following. She'd successfully managed to ignore his speculative glances throughout the ride and kept up a fluid conversation of small talk with Sherry about their twin boys on the way to their destination.

She'd just heaved a sigh of relief that she'd managed to avoid an interrogation by Murphy when he whispered something in Sherry's ear and she departed the cab, shutting the door behind her. Laura crossed her arms and put a frown on her face, to show her displeasure at being shanghaied.

"Okay, pal. Quit with the flimsy cover-up stories. What's he done now?" Laura exhaled in frustration.

" _He_ hasn't done anything. _You_ may not be able to say the same thing very shortly if you _think_ you're going to corner me in a cab and interrogate me." Murphy shook his head at her.

"Sorry, partner, not buying it. You were moody and distracted all throughout breakfast, Steele was nowhere to be found. I know the signs all too well. Now spill." Tipping her head up and turning it away, she fought to keep her temper tamped down. It had already caused her more than enough trouble for the day. Then she remembered her promise to herself on the way to NY, that if Murphy continued his dogged criticisms of Steele she was going to set him straight once and for all. Turning back to face him, she'd just opened her mouth to do just that when something caught her eye. Or someone. She glanced back again and saw Steele leaning against a light post, working a toothpick between his teeth.

"Murphy, I need to go get ready for Bernice's wedding and I think someone's getting impatient waiting on me out there in the cold," she told him, nodding towards Steele. "So, if you don't mind letting me out?"

Murphy turned to look over his shoulder and confirmed Steele was, indeed, waiting on Laura. With a huff of frustration, he opened the door and climbed out, then held the door as Laura alighted. With a cursory nod towards Steele, Murphy met Sherry on the steps at the front of the club and escorted her inside.

Laura walked cautiously towards Steele, stopping a foot or so before him. He stood and watched her, both of them silent. He sighed and took the toothpick from his mouth, stashing it in a pocket.

"Do we want to do this the hard way, with long drawn out explanations, or simply admit that we both could have handled this morning better?" Laura gave him a rueful smile, then stepped to him.

"I'm sorry. I was angry with myself for forgetting to set the alarm and took it out on you." He gave her a lopsided grin and circled her waist with his arms.

"I'm sorry for never having thought about setting it. I assure you, I won't forget anytime soon." Laura laughed, then looped her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the tips of his hair.

"Well, that was painless." He raised a brow at her.

"Tell that to my foot." Laura had the decency to grimace with chagrin.

"Any permanent damage?" He gave her a frown.

"Only calculating permanent damage now are we?" he asked, releasing her hips and taking her bags from the now irritable cab driver. Discretely handing the man a healthy tip, he wrapped his arm around her waist and directed her towards the front of the club.

"I'm sorry about your foot." She told him with flash of dimples.

"Yes, well, I suppose a door to a toe is better than a heel through the foot, at least." Laura threw back her head and laughed, then laced her fingers with his as they walked into the club.

* * *

Steele watched as Laura made her way down the aisle. In his opinion, the mint green taffeta dress with matching bolero jacket was hideous and uninspired. He did, however, enjoy watching the gentle sway of Laura's hips as she walked down the aisle, even the particular monstrosity she was wearing unable to hide that.

As Bernice and Jason exchanged vows, he found his gaze constantly wandering to look at her. When, on occasion he felt her eyes move to meet his, he'd had the good sense to look away lest she saw what was in his eyes, something he was sure would send her scurrying away to hide.

Murphy did a double take from his seat across the aisle from the Steele. He'd caught the look the other man had been giving Laura, had seen where Steele's thoughts were taking him and was… stunned. He frowned, reminding himself this was Steele, the consummate conman.

Laura felt Steele's eyes on her, and only when she knew he'd looked away would she dare her own peek at him. Where her thoughts wandered were discomforting enough that she'd had to remind herself time and again that she had once dared to let herself dream about tomorrows, only to find those dreams shattered in a million pieces at her feet.

Better to enjoy the moment. And who better to enjoy the moment with than her Mr. Steele.

* * *

Lifting her hand, Steele grazed his lips across the back of her knuckles sending a pleasant shimmer down her spine. "Care to dance, Miss Holt?" he asked his voice as soft as a caress and nearly as sensual as the look shared between them when their eyes met. At the flash of a dimple he stood and held her chair as she rose, threading his fingers with hers as he led her to the dance floor. With the grace of two people that dance together often, he swung her into his arms, tucking her body close to his. With one hand clasped within his, her other traced up his back until it lay at his shoulders her fingers doing a dance of their own as they teased the short hairs at the nape of his neck. With a tilt of her head, she watched as Bernice and Murphy took a turn around the floor.

"She's lovely, isn't she?" It was more a practical statement of fact, than a question though framed as such.

With a flick of his eyes, Steele's gaze ran swiftly along Bernice's silhouette. "Mmm," he acknowledged. "Quite lovely." After laying her hand on his chest, he ran the back of his fingers down the side of Laura's neck. "Not nearly as stunning as the young woman in my arms, however." A smile glinted in his eyes as he watched a blush spread across Laura's skin, making the freckles he adored stand out tantalizingly. With a quick pull of her teeth at her lower lip, Laura playfully swatted his shoulder.

"Poor etiquette, Mr. Steele. Tradition states a bride's beauty should always be acknowledged above all others."

"Never been much for tradition." Steele grinned down at her with a cheeky shrug while reclaiming her hand in his. When he would have continued to extol her incomparable beauty in his eyes, he took note of her distraction as she continued to watch Bernice. _Perhaps envisioning herself as a bride, much as I was earlier?_ he pondered, a smile playing across his lips. When she turned back to him, he quickly schooled his countenance so as not to reveal where his mind had wandered.

"Bernice. A mother. Married. The belle of the ball officially out of the marriage mart," she mused.

"Belle of the ball?" he queried.

"Mmmm," she hummed in answer. "Cinderella, hoping to find her prince by midnight. She kissed a lot of frogs before she found her Prince Charming." He raised a brow at her in amusement.

"Liberally mixing fairy tales, are we?" he teased smoothly. She shrugged slightly.

"Perhaps, but it's still an accurate description of Bernice." She tilted her head to the side in thought. "For many women of the 80's actually, looking in the wrong places then wondering why they can never find Mr. Right."

The back of two fingers brushed against her cheek as he gazed down at her tenderly. "Speaking from experience?" She lifted a brow of her own at him, momentarily wondering if he was trying to gauge the extent of her sexual history. With a shrug, she recognized he already did, although he was not aware.

"No," she answered honestly. "I've never found singles bars to be very appealing, even in my more… wild… days." He cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips, clearly believing he'd caught her in a deception.

"You met Wilson in a bar," he pointed out. Laura smiled at him and shook her head.

"I met Wilson in a pub," she corrected, "And technically, it was during a gathering of friends. None of us were on the prowl that night. By then I'd already done, to a degree, the one night stand thing with Marty Klopmann and found that it held no appeal. I wasn't looking for that. I was smart enough to realize that if you cast your line in a singles bar all you're going to reel in is a string of one night stands."

"Ahhhh, in search of the fairy tale, were you then?" he asked lightly. He loved the moments Laura would let him in, share a bit of her own past with him and was intent on encouraging her to continue, but not to push and shut her down.

His question was met with another slight shrug. "When I met Wilson I was. I knew I wasn't interested in another fling, I wanted more…something real. But that comes with its own dangers, of course."

"Being left?" The words slipped past his lips before thought could catch up. He cringed, internally, certain she would shut down now. Instead, she tilted her head, and mulled his question over.

"No, although that certainly happened." Her brow furrowed as she searched for the words. "The daydreams. They're dangerous in their own right. Then, when it all goes away, those dreams fall to ashes as well." He thumbed her cheek when he saw the memory of what was lost when Wilson left her pass through her eyes. _Buggering idiot,_ he thought, not or the first time.

"Stopped dreaming then, have you?" he asked quietly.

"No. Just stopped believing in the fairy tale. It's the 80's, the age of many vices, no convictions. A quick hop in the sack, no ties… hell, in some cases no names. Acquaintances are many, friendships are few; lies are frequent, truth is seldom. We've all, for the most part, just become a bunch of numbers, notches on bed posts… a hedonistic society that only cares about the pleasure they can find in the next moment, uninterested in finding what can stand the test of time. And trust me, those who are looking for something real and lasting… those who still believe in the fairytale or have been become jaded by all the self-gratification surrounding them and dare to believe there might be something more? Only a statistically insignificant number of those are in the single bars hoping to find what they are looking for."

"Jason and Bernice being exceptions to the rule then?" Laura glanced across the dance floor again towards Bernice and Murphy.

"Yes. Two jaded people who didn't believe in the fairytale but found something real anyway in the most unlikely of places." She smiled up at him. "Murphy and Sherry as well, for that matter. All of them, beating the odds."

"And you?" Tucking his head down, he rubbed his cheek against hers, before raising his head up to look down at her. "No longer seeking the fairytale, thus firmly amongst the ranks of the jaded?"

She laughed. "But the jaded _are_ seeking the fairy tale. It's their something more."

With a tilt of the head and a lift of a brow, Steele gave her a puzzled look. "If not a hedonist, a seeker of the fairy tale or one of the jaded, what does that leave?"

"The…."

"Mind if I cut in?" Murphy asked, clapping a hand on Steele's shoulder from behind where he stood. A brief flash of irritation crossed Steele's face at the interruption, but he quickly schooled his countenance in his most affable persona. With a glance at Laura and the brief nod of her head, he stepped back, passing Laura's hand to Murphy.

"Not at all," he answered with a brief bow of his head.

"I guess, seeing as I've been ditched by my dance partner, that means you have the honor of dancing with the bride," Bernice quipped at his elbow. Steele turned to her and held out a hand in that courtly manner of his.

"An honor, indeed, Ms. Wolf," he answered with a quirk of the lips, easily sliding back into their historic banter. Bernice stepped into his frame, placed a hand at his waist, then smoothly matched him step-for-step as he took the lead.

"Fox," Bernice said through clenched teeth, secretly enjoying falling back into this old game of theirs. "It's Bernice Fox. F-O-X. How hard is that to remember?"

"Ah. Independent sort then, are you? Rejecting the assumption of your husband's surname, and all that?" Bernice fairly growled at that, drawing a laugh from him.

"Hawke," she corrected. "Bernice Hawke."

"Exchanging fur for feathers, then, although equally as predatory, eh, Ms. Wolf?" Bernice rolled her eyes at him.

"Okay, give. Four years later and still with the name thing. What is it with you?"

"Beyond the obvious?" he asked on lifted brow. "Fox doesn't suit you, whereas Wolf does. You neither have titian hair, nor beady little eyes. You do not meekly skulk about but boldly go after what you seek. You are not slight of build, but powerful. Yes, Wolf is far more suitable."

"Still the silver-tongued devil I see," she said drolly.

"Keeping with the predatory animal theme, I'm sure you're well aware of the saying about a leopard and his spots," he agreed with a nod. Glancing down at her, he recalled Laura's words earlier. "On a more sincere note… you are a lovely bride, Mrs. Wolf. Jason is a fortunate man."

She accepted his compliment with a smile and a nod of her head, then watched as his eyes drifted across the room seeking out Laura where she danced with Murphy. She watched as his eyes softened upon finding her, a possessive and pride filled gleam in his eyes replacing the earlier twinkle of mischievousness. When Laura's eyes met his, his lips pursed for a split second, then lifted in an answering smile to Laura's own, before he returned his attention to Bernice when he heard her sigh.

"Well, we can't have that now can we?" he queried, before spinning them both with a few deft movements of his feet. Bernice laughed, then looked at him querulously.

"Can't have what?"

"It wouldn't bode well for my reputation to have the woman I am dancing with sighing with boredom. And when that woman is the guest of honor? No, can't have that at all," he bantered, before playfully dipping her back drawing another laugh. When he straightened he found yet another hand clapping him across the shoulder. Turning them both, he greeted Bernice's husband with a nod.

"Mind if I steal my wife away?" Jason asked on a smile, even as Bernice stepped away to join her husband. Steele lifted the hand in his to tap a kiss on the back of her hand.

"Not at all." He nodded briefly to Bernice. "Mrs. Wolf, it's been a pleasure." He glanced at Bernice, then gave Jason a smile. "You've found yourself a good one."

Jason grinned widely, while taking Bernice in his arms. "Don't I know it."

Released from obligation, Steele strode across the hall to the bandstand. Briefly leaning over to speak in the leader's ear, he gave a satisfied smile at the outcome of the conversation. Crossing back across the room, he leaned casually against a pillar, watching Laura and Murphy while biding his time.

"So, pal, how goes things at the Agency?" Murphy asked Laura as they swayed to the music. Laura pursed her lips and thought about it.

"Busy. We may have to consider taking on another investigator soon, along with Mildred once she gets her license. Which means, of course, we would then be in the market for another major domo as well."

"You've made quite the splash on the international scene this year," he noted.

"All accidental," she laughed. "Believe me, we weren't looking to tangle with a serial killer or assassins in London. It just… happened."

"Never a dull moment, huh? I have to admit I'm much more cut out for the boring and the mundane, but I can't help thinking from time-to-time about some of the situations we found ourselves mixed up in," he grinned at her.

"Breaking into the Federal Reserve."

"Breaking Kirk out of the insane asylum."

"Going up against mobsters, ala _The Thomas Crown Affair_."

"Chasing murderous ghosts."

"You posing as Remington Steele to catch Hoskins." They both laughed. "We had some good times, Murph."

"We sure did, pal."

"I've missed you, partner." He gave her a rueful look.

"Ex-partner. You've had a new partner for years now," Murphy pointed out. He looked at her with concern. "Is he watching your back, keeping you safe, Laura?"

"The two of you…" she groused, a frown forming between her brows. "How many times do I have to tell you _both_ , that I can take care of myself?" She peppered her question with emphatic stabs at his chest with her finger. Murphy grimaced.

"Well, I certainly don't envy him this," he muttered under his breath, earning him a deeper scowl from Laura. Smiling he shook his head at her. "Truce, okay, truce. I wasn't trying to imply you're not perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Partners have each other's backs, remember? I just want to know that he's holding up his end, that's all."

With a jerk of her head, she expelled a puff of air. "When are you going to give him a break, Murph?" she asked resignedly.

Murphy began to answer when he noticed her attention was drawn away. Following her eyes, he turned his head to watch the interplay between Laura and Steele. Not for the first time on the weekend, he was left speechless. Laura immediately, unperturbed by the momentary distraction, launched right back in where she'd left off.

"He's been my partner for more than three years," she reminded him, then continued on vehemently. "That man that you're so worried about? Have no doubt: He would lay down his life for me. He's done it time and again. _Despite_ my objections, I might add."

"Whoa, whoa," Murphy told her, releasing her hand and holding it up between them. When she quieted he took her hand again, and continued to dance with her. "I'm not the enemy here, pal. I just can't help worrying about you."

Laura exhaled hard. "I know. But you don't need to, that's the point." She glanced across the room, finding Steele sans Bernice and leaning against a pillar, his eyes on her. Seeing the strain around her eyes, he pushed himself off, and began making his way towards her. "He's a great partner, Murph. The two of us make one a hell of a team." Laura's eyes lit up as she looked over his shoulder. Even without the glance over his shoulder, he knew Steele had arrived to reclaim his partner. Leaning down he bussed her on the cheek.

"We'll talk later," he told her on an undertone. Taking a step away he nodded at Steele. "Steele."

"Michaels," he returned on a nod of his head, before gathering Laura to him. With a squeeze of her hand, he ducked his head down, his lips brushing against her ear. "Everything okay?" His breath feathered against her ear, sending a delicious shimmer down her spine. Feeling her reaction, he squeezed her waist before raising his head back up to watch her when she spoke.

"Just Murphy being Murphy. You know how he is. It's fine, really," she assured him, brushing her hand across the small of his back.

"Mmmmm," he hummed in answer, as the final strains of Piazzolla's _Oblivion_ faded away. Tucking Laura closer to him, he smiled as the first strands of _As Time Goes By_ trickled through the hall. With a small sigh, Laura laid her head against his shoulder.

"Barcelona," she murmured, her hand journeying up his back to lie on his shoulder. He hummed again in answer while drawing their joined hands up to lay against his chest. They swayed together in silence, both lost in their memories of that magical evening nearly two years prior. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this," she susurrated. As his silence droned on, she lifted her head to look at him. "You _did_ plan this." He ducked his head in answer.

"Anything for my Ilsa," he softly intoned next to her ear, before raising his head to look at her. His heart clenched as sentiment and memories converged in her eyes. Without thought to the public venue in which they stood, his head dipped and he touched his lips to hers.

"They're watching," she sing-songed quietly against his mouth. He brushed his mouth against hers briefly, while looking up from under his lashes towards Murphy and Bernice and their respective spouses. They indeed were all watching, intently.

"Do you care?" he asked on a husky rumble. Laura cocked her head slightly to the side, considering his question. _Do I? We haven't hidden that we're committed in LA. Bernice knows about us. Is worrying about Murphy's opinions worth letting this moment pass us by?_ Freeing her hand from where he still held it tucked against his body, she shimmied it up his chest, her fingers finding the back of his neck, rumpling the hair at his collar. With a gentle touch against his neck, she lifted her lips to his.

"No," she answered on a breath, as his lips barely glanced against hers. They continued to sway together, every few steps interspersed with a tender brush of the mouth or press of the lips, the touch of fingers on a cheek, or a quick graze across the neck… lost in one another and not particularly caring about the interest they had attracted. This moment was for them and them alone and they claimed it without remorse.

For Steele, Laura's decision not to hide what they were to one another was particularly meaningful. Not only did it show her ongoing commitment to moving them forward, as they'd both agreed to during their walk along the beach at Friedlich Spa and after, but even more so, it earmarked the extent of her commitment to him, them. In that first year as they'd moved with uncertainty from recognition of their immediate attraction to one another towards hesitant acceptance that there was more brewing between them than a simple fling, they'd never once disclosed to either Bernice or Murphy the actual extent of their involvement. Oh, they'd suspected, particularly Murphy, but never did they provide proof those suspicions were ever anything other than that. For Laura to allow herself to seize this moment for them touched him deeply, which he conveyed through both look and touch.

At the other end of the room, Murphy found an elbow firmly planted in his ribs.

"Looks like Tavern on the Green is on you tonight," Bernice gloated. Murphy sputtered with indignation.

"Oh, and how do you figure that Bernice? Dancing, a few kisses, doesn't mean…."

"You've lost, Murph," Sherry interrupted him with a laugh, then frowned at him playfully. "I told you it was a fool's bet.

"I have not lost!" he sputtered. "That," he flung his arm towards the dance floor, "isn't proof!"

"Oh yeah, it is," Bernice and Sherry intoned wistfully at the same time.

"Murphy could learn a thing or two," Sherry sniggered to Bernice. "He hasn't looked at me like that since before the twins were born."

"You think you have problem? It's my wedding day and Jason," she indicated her new husband with a sharp poke of her thumb over her shoulder, "hasn't looked at me like that once!" Jason, looking confused by the entire conversation, cringed at the accusation of his lack of romance on the day. A glance at Murphy showed the other man knew he was not fairing much better.

"Absolutely delicious," Sherry drawled.

"Mmmm, I'll say," Bernice agreed. Watching the couple dance, she gave a wistful sigh.

"I haven't lost!" Murphy tried again, his voice leaning towards desperation now.

"You've lost, Murph," the women spoke together once more.

"I'm confused," Jason muttered to no one in particular. "What did he lose?"

Bernice patted Jason on the arm, consolingly. "Murphy and I had a bet on whether or not Steele was head-over-heels for Laura. _He,"_ Bernice drawled out the word, while rolling her eyes and jabbing a thumb towards Murphy this time, "still thinks that Steele is just trying to pull one over on Laura. _I_ bet that this is the real deal, otherwise Laura wouldn't be… well, like that," she nodded towards the dance floor where Laura's fingers were dancing across the back of Steele's neck as he nuzzled her cheek. Jason watched the couple for a few long moments then shook his head at the other man.

"You're toast, buddy," he told Murphy on a laugh. "If I'd been looking at Bernie like _that_ all this time, she would've married me two years ago."

"Thanks, _pal_ ," Murphy retorted sarcastically, "for the backup."

"What can I say. I call 'em like I see 'em. Besides," he joked, while rubbing his hand over his stomach, "I could use a free meal at Tavern on the Green tonight."

"Oh, so you're basing your opinion on who's picking up…" Murphy began to defend himself. Sherry laid a hand on his arm, while shaking her head at him and laughing.

"Now, Murph, honey, I know how much you hate it when I point out that I was right and you were wrong…"

"And here comes the but…" he grumbled to himself. Sherry laughed and patted him on the arm placatingly.

"…But, I told you the first weekend that we met, when we helped them break into the Federal Reserve…"

"Break into the Federal Reserve?" Jason asked, confused again. His eyes widened as he put it together. "You _broke into_ the Federal Reserve of the _United States Government_?

Three faces stared at him, then with a little wave of her hand towards him, Sherry continued.

"…when Laura fell of the beam, that that man," she nodded towards the dance floor, "would have thrown himself off if it would have saved her."

"Fell off a beam? Why would you need a beam? Never mind, I don't wanna know," Jason quantified holding up his hand. He looked at Bernice. "What exactly did you used to get yourself into, Bernie?"

"Shhhh," Bernice admonished him, enjoying the conversation next to her far too much to be interrupted.

"I never disagreed with you on that point. I wouldn't have left her with him otherwise. But that doesn't translate into anything other than the fact that he doesn't want to see his meal ticket disappear."

"You're a stubborn man, Murphy Michaels," Sherry scolded him lightly. "Alright, just for a minute, suppress your implacable need to see him as a villain and then look at the two of them together. Tell me what you see."

Murphy briefly considered telling his wife to pound salt, but no one could call him a fool. He quickly realized the only thing that would get him was a cold shoulder and a cold bed, neither of which he looked forward to with any form of relish. So, with a sigh of resignation, Murphy watched the couple on the dance floor, leaving his opinions of the man behind.

"What say we leave?" Steele murmured against Laura's ear, before brushing his lips against that area beneath her ear guaranteed to turn her to mush. He smiled as he felt her twitch underneath his hands.

Her fingertips found his cheek, nudging his head up. Pressing her lips against his, she reminded him, "Can't. Bridesmaid." The corners of his eyes crinkled upwards with his smile. The hand pressed against her back toyed with the ends of her hair, as he tilted his head playfully towards her.

"Duty before pleasure then?" She pressed her lips against his again.

"You know it." He lifted her hand to his mouth and fluttered his lips across her wrist, watched as her lips parted and her eyes clouded at the sensation.

"We've quite the audience again," he murmured, as she feathered her fingers down his back, sending shivers along his spine. She bit her lip, acknowledging she'd felt his reaction under her finger tips.

"Jealousy," she breathed, when he stroked a thumb across the palm of her hand, before lacing his fingers with hers and tucking their joined hands back against him.

"Nasty, thing, that jealousy," he mumbled, his lips brushing over hers. Her fingers stroked the base of his neck, then a gentle press hinted he should tip his head down. Running her fingers through the back of his hair, she cupped the back of his head. Her lips touched that place under his ear, then she dared to flick the tip of her tongue against it.

"I want you," she whispered at his ear, before blowing across the wet spot she'd created. His body quaked under her hands as white hot desire enflamed his body. When he lifted his head, she smiled at the combination of tenderness and desire reflected in his eyes.

"My God, Laura, you don't play fair," he told her on a shaky exhale, as she swept that stray lock of hair back off his forehead.

"I know," she laughed softly as he gathered her closer.

"We'll not be leaving this dance floor for a bit," he warned quietly, evidence of why grazing across her abdomen. She lifted a playful brow, a knowing look in her eyes.

"I know," she laughed again, her smile fading to be replaced by desire when he ran a single finger along her jaw then touched under her chin, tipping her head up. Their lips met, pressed, held. When they parted she tucked herself under his chin, laying her head against his chest, while his arm wrapped around her a little more snuggly. Nuzzling his chin on the top of her head, he closed his eyes and let the music guide their motion, both of them losing themselves in the seductive rhythm of the music.

Across the room, Murphy stood in stunned silence, mouth hanging slightly ajar, at what he'd just witnessed between Laura and Steele. Not even in their college days, that pre-Wilson era when Laura had been as carefree as he'd ever seen her, had he known Laura to be so… relaxed… happy. There was a confidence in her that had long ago been crushed by Wilson during their time together. It was clear in her every interaction with Steele that she was a woman who knew the man holding her was bound to her in every way that mattered. Yet, it had been that look on Steele' face, immediately following whatever Laura had whispered into his ear, that left Murphy speechless and dazed. He'd known that feeling often with Sherry, still knew it now. That feeling which told you this was the person you were meant to spend your life with, the one it would be impossible to exist wholly without.

 _The man's sunk._ There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that the charming, sometimes haughty, conman that had walked through the Agency's doors four years before had been bested by the temperamental, stubborn and intelligent woman he'd set out to con from the start. Yet, as enjoyable as that thought was, there was no doubt he had lost the bet. _She's not only got him in the palm of her hand, but has him prepared to shackle himself to her for life._ Now _that thought_ certainly took the sting off of how much emptier his wallet would be after this evening. Laura, the independent woman of the 80's, who refused to see herself as belonging to anyone. There, at least, Steele would fail. He laughed aloud.

"Dinner's on me, it seems," Murphy announced, conceding defeat, drawing laughter from the other three people nearby. Murphy raised his brows and turned to give Bernice a smug look. "Up for another bet, Bernice?"

"What do you have in mind?" Bernice smirked.

"Murphyyyyy," Sherry intoned in a warning voice. Murphy tilted his head towards his wife and smiled, while rubbing her forearm in a conciliatory manner.

"Don't worry, hon, I've got this one in the bag." He returned his attention to Bernice. "Do you think there are wedding bells in the future for the two of them, Bernice?"

Bernice glanced at Steele and Laura on the floor and laughed. "Only a fool wouldn't realize there are."

"Seems you don't know Laura as well as you think. If there's one thing she has said time and time again over the years it is that she never, ever plans to marry."

"Murphyyyyy," Sherry warned again.

Bernice's eyes flicked towards the dance floor again, then tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. "Within the year," she predicted.

"We have a bet then? If they're not married within the year, _you_ buy dinner the next time we're together," he held out his hand to her. One side of Bernice's mouth lifted in a look that all but screamed "sucker".

"It's a bet," she told him, shaking his hand firmly.

Next to Murphy, Sherry stood shaking her head. Seeing this, he grinned at her. "Don't worry, Sher, this one's a sure win."

"Oh, Murph," she sighed, shaking her head again.

"What?!" he asked, not understanding why she was not being supportive. After all, Laura was _his_ friend and he knew her better than next to anyone.

"You're that confident, huh?" Sherry asked, as an idea began to brew in her mind.

"Absolutely.".

"I think I'd like a little side wager of our own."

"Aw, c'mon Sher, you're supposed to be on _my_ side," he sputtered.

"Oh, so you're _not confident_ then?" she challenged. Murphy looked at her, then at Bernice, who was trying not to laugh. He drew himself up to his full height.

"Oh, I'm confident alright," he bluffed.

"Alright, then. I say they're married within six months. Loser gets the boys ready every morning for three months." Murphy hesitated for a moment. Their twin sons were fifteen months old now, and already hell on wheels to corral long enough to dress, get socks and shoes on, hair combed, jackets on before they managed to strip themselves down again in a flash of an eye. Many mornings, it would leave the two of them, working in tandem, exhausted by the time the task was complete. Then knowing with absolute conviction that Laura Holt would never tie herself to a man with a piece of paper, he grinned and held out his hand to his wife.

"You're on," he shook her hand, already daydreaming about an extra hour in bed while Sherry tended to the boys.

Bet settled, Jason who'd been chewing on the earlier discussion broke in. "Would someone mind filling me in on about this bit about the Federal Reserve and Laura falling off a beam?"

Bernice's eyes flicked across the dance floor to where her mother was waving at her frantically. With a pat on Jason's shoulder, she told him, "Later. Based on my mother's, uh, near hysteria, it's time to cut the cake now." She nodded with her head towards her mother, then watched as Jason's shoulders drooped.

"Fine, but I'm not going to forget, Bernie." Grabbing his hand, Bernice dragged him behind her as she made her way towards her mother.

"That's fine. It's a good story," she told him. "You wouldn't believe the amount of trouble the two of them can find."

Jason's brows only raised higher at Bernice's words.

(Continued)


	3. Chapter 3

(Chapter 3)

Laura stood before the closet in their bedroom at the Four Seasons, lamenting her choices of clothing that she'd packed for the trip. Her bridesmaid dress, a casual dress for the rehearsal dinner, the hot little number that had left Steele drooling for the bachelorette's night, a few pair of casual slacks and blouses, and a couple of suit jackets. Nothing, whatsoever, appropriate for dinner at Tavern on the Green. _I'll have to go shopping._ She cringed at the thought. Laura Holt did not enjoy shopping, not in the least. Growing up in a household with her mother and Frances, who could live inside of stores joyously for the rest of their lives, had turned her off to the endeavor for life. She'd been held hostage with the confines of the mall, a small boutique, by the two of them one time too many, and had developed a lifelong aversion to the task as a result.

She glanced at her watch and heaved a sigh. Three-thirty. With dinner at nine, that left more than enough time for her to go explore the stores of New York to find something appropriate to wear.

Steele watched Laura from where he leaned back on a single elbow on the bed. Even beneath the layers of mint taffeta, he could find the sway of her delectable little bottom. His tongue flicked out to touch his lips. It had been too long. After endless weeks of exploring one another, it had been nearly a month since last he'd felt her under his hands, felt her hands on him. The first two nights in the City had not allowed them time to indulge in one another and by now he was verging on becoming desperate, especially after Laura's words on the dance floor. A glance of his watch showed it was nearly three-thirty. With dinner at nine, that left them hours to explore, to satiate their bodies and souls, indulge in a playful shower, then still arrive at the Tavern on time. That thought in mind, he pushed himself to his feet.

Laura smiled as his arm circled her waist from behind and pressed her back to his chest. Leaning her head back, she nuzzled her cheek against his. Clearly a good sign, his hand stroked the sensitive skin of her waist, the material of her dress only heightening the sensation. His other arm encircled her, a hand daring to find a breast, as his head dipped so that hungry lips could graze along her neck. She gasped at the sensation, a hand cupping the back of his neck, encouraging him to continue. When a thumb flicked over a cloth covered nipple she arched her back with a small moan, her lower body rubbing enticingly against a very sensitive part of his body, causing him immediately to harden. This time it was he who gasped, as he moved his mouth to lay next to her ear.

"I need to touch you, Laura," his husky voice rumbled. He was left baffled when Laura went lax in his arm and groaned audibly.

"I can't," she told him, nearly disconsolately, turning in his arms, disappointment written across her. "I have to go _shopping_." She said the last word with such distaste that she drew a laugh from him, despite his aroused state that would be left wanting.

"You do, do you?" he smiled down at her, while tightening his arms around her waist and swaying her in his arms.

"Yesssss," she hissed morosely. "I have nothing to wear tonight. You should have told me," she admonished, poking a finger into his chest. He picked up her hand from his chest and nibbled the pad of the same finger playfully, watching her eyes grow smoky.

"Then perhaps I would be well-served to let you know you will need a second… appropriate… dress for tomorrow evening," he told her, wagging his brows at her.

"Tomorrow evening? Our flight leaves at six," she pointed out. He looked at her semi-sheepishly, but his pleasure with himself shone through the act.

"I, uh, switched us to the red-eye." Seeing the frown appear between her brows and the purse of her lips, indicating she was about to give it to him, he hurried on. "Before that temper of yours sets off, we'll still be home in LA by eleven, in bed by one. Plenty of time to be up and at the office on time. A little worse for the wear, I admit, but it will be well worth it, I promise you."

She mulled his words, then with another tap on his chest, warned him, "It had better be." She glanced back at the closet. "Especially since I now apparently need to buy _two_ dresses and their accessories," she groaned.

"I suppose as penance for my misdeeds, I'll just have to accompany you," he offered.

"I suppose you will," she agreed, then leaned up to run her lips over his. At his answering hum and his arms tightening around her, she wrapped both arms around his neck, her fingers dancing through his hair, urging him closer. Lips toyed, teeth nipped, a tongue flicked against his lips, then explored his mouth thoroughly. With a wicked little smile playing against her lips even as they clung to his, she ran a hand over his hip then down the cloth-covered length of his already engorged shaft. At the moan that rumbled deep within his throat, she released him, then turned to the closet to pluck out something to wear for the afternoon ahead.

She glanced at Steele on the way to the bathroom. He still stood where she'd left him, eyes closed, fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to rein his body in. At her lilting laugh, a pair of white-hot blue eyes opened to fix her in their gaze.

"Bloody hell, you don't play fair, Laura," he grumbled.

"I know," she smirked, then let her mouth settle into a lascivious smile. "Just a small taste… a very, very small taste… of what I have planned for you tonight," she told him, her eyes grazing over his body hungrily, eliciting another moan from him.

"Paybacks, Miss Holt. You know what they say about paybacks," he warned.

"Hmmmm, I do. Give it your best shot," she told him with a wink. A devilish gleam settled in her eyes, making him take an involuntary step back. Dropping her clothes on the chair near the window, she stripped off the little bolero jacket that she wore over her dress. Then holding his eyes with hers, she reached behind her and slowly slid down the zipper of her dress. At the flick of his tongue against his lips, she pushed the straps of the dress from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a frilly little bra, a scrap of lace that passed as panties and… _God help me,_ he mumbled to himself, lifting his eyes heavenwards before he looked back to feed on the sight of her… a garter belt and a pair of very, very sexy opaque thigh high stockings. His body visibly twitched, drawing a smug smile from her.

He took a step towards her, a hand outstretched, needing to touch her as he never had needed before. _Positively absurd,_ he thought to himself, _given how much I've needed to feel her under my hands for years._ His eyes traced the path of her body again, stopping on the stockings, imagining himself rolling them down those glorious legs one at a time, as his lips following the path they would take… knowing it would not happen right now. _Bloody hell, the woman's trying to kill me. Shower, I need a shower,_ _now_ _._ On that thought, he yanked a pair of jeans and sweater out of the closet, then headed resolutely towards the bathroom. He was unable to stop himself from taking one final look at her. _God help me,_ he thought, closing the bathroom door behind him with a resounding thud.

The door didn't keep Laura's trickle of pleased laughter from reaching his ears.

 _Paybacks,_ he nodded to himself as he stripped off his clothes then tossed himself under the freezing spray of the shower. _Bloody hell._

* * *

Laura and Steele were ensconced in the backseat of a NYC taxi which was harrowingly navigating the very congested streets through Broadway. Having just picked up tickets for a matinee of 42nd street at the Majestic for the following afternoon – a makeup, in his mind, for the missed birthday opportunity two years prior when the blasted Cannes agreement was in effect – they were now headed toward Barney's on Madison Avenue. When the taxi jerked to a stop at a red light on the corner of Broadway and 72nd, Laura suddenly bolted upright.

"Can you let us out here?" she asked the driver while Steele considered her, clearly puzzled. Glancing around, not a decent store in sight, at least as far as he was concerned, he could not imagine what had gotten into her.

"Laura, we're nowhere near Barney's. Surely, you're not suggesting we trek across _Central Park_ on _foot_ , are you?" he asked warily. Laura shook her head and pointed her finger at something called "Gray's Papaya" sitting on the adjacent corner. He looked at the building with trepidation.

"What, exactly, is a Gray's Papaya?" he asked with a bit of a haughty sneer at the name.

"According to Bernice, the best hog dog ever made. A must try. Once in a lifetime experience," Laura told him with a grin.

"A… _hot dog_? Might I remind you, we ate not… " he glanced at his watch, "…two hours ago, and quite heartily at that?"

"Once in a lifetime, Mr. Steele," she reminded him with a roll of her eyes. She nodded towards the driver as she opened the door to the cab and started climbing out. "Pay the man, will you?"

Steele did a double take, looking at her, then the driver, then back at her. With a sigh, he pulled out his money clip, tossing the driver two twenties. "Do me a favor, mate, circle the block then pick us back up. The tip should cover us, eh?"

The driver glanced at the fare, and grinned. Nearly a thirty buck tip. Big spender here, he noted in his mind. "Not a problem. I'll be back in ten."

"Appreciate that," Steele acknowledged, slinging himself from the cab and taking several long strides to catch up to Laura before she crossed the street. Laying a hand on the small of her back, he guided her through the throngs of people walking with and against them. She laughed aloud as he gave a haughty look down his nose at their surroundings when they entered the restaurant.

"Your snobbery is showing, Mr. Steele," she teased him. "Seems to me, that about this time last year, you were ready to face bullets just to grab a hot dog from a street vendor," she told him, reminding him of when he slipped out of the strip club they were hiding in, determined to put some food on his stomach.

"Yes, well, we hadn't eaten in a day at that point. Desperate measures were called for and these…" he looked around him, "… are hardly desperate times."

They stepped up to the counter, and he reluctantly placed her order. "Chili dog, cheese and mustard, no onions."

Laura elbowed him in the ribs. "And a papaya juice."

With a sigh, he intoned, "And a papaya juice." After paying the cashier, they moved to the end of the counter to pick up her fare. Handing him the juice to hold, she took a large bite of the hot dog as they stepped back on the street. She groaned in delight.

"Bernice was right," she told him around a mouthful of food. "Have a bite." She shoved the hot dog at him, nearly taking out his nose in the process. He held up a hand between mouth and dog, and signaled with a downwards pat of his hand, that she could remove it from the vicinity of his mouth.

"I, uh, don't have a particular craving for, uh, bi-glycerin-sorbate at the moment." She took another bite of the dog, while giving him a puzzled look.

"Bi-glycerin-sorbate?" she asked around the food. Tipping a finger under her chin, he closed her mouth while shaking his head. Seeing their cab round the corner, he held out a hand towards the curb.

"Barney's awaits, Miss Holt." Giving him a grin, she climbed back into the cab as he held the door for him. A mile and a half and fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of Barney's. Again handing over the driver a couple of bills he asked, "Swing back around for us in an hour and a half?"

The driver looked at the bills hungrily… a little over twenty more bucks in tip. The next fare should net him enough for decent seats at the Yankee's game next weekend. "See you then, sir!" he answered enthusiastically. Dropping the hot dog wrapper and nearly empty cup of papaya juice in a waste can, Steele escorted Laura into the store, a hand laying possessively on her back once more. Laura spent nearly thirty minutes moving with calculation through the evening wear department, making several selections and having clerks move them to a dressing room to wait on her. Every once in a while she would hold up a particular selection for his opinion, which he acknowledged with a hum or a shake of his head. Finally, having collected nearly a dozen dresses to try on, she headed towards the dressing room, pausing before she entered.

"Wait for me?" He nodded.

"I'd planned on it." She gave a brief nod of her head, and continued on.

Five minutes later she emerged wearing an aqua, sequin covered cocktail dress. Spinning this way and that, she assessed her image in the mirror. She caught his image in the mirror, seated in a nearby chair, one foot crossed over a knee, watching. While his eyes meandered down her legs from knee to ankle, he appeared to have little interest in the dress. Never acknowledging his watchful gaze, she returned to the dressing room to reemerge in a cap-sleeved, sequined black cocktail dress that clung to her graceful curves. Again, she watched him watch her, his eyes running down her legs once more. Yet, still, she didn't see the reaction she hoped for, and returned to the dressing room again.

Never one to dress for a man in particular, there was something almost… seductive… in having him assess each thing she tried on.

When she emerged the third time, she wore a bronze silk, floor length gown, that hugged her curves, and left her shoulders bare, the top buttoning around her neck, leaving the freckles on her shoulders fully exposed. In the mirror she saw as he imperceptibly sat up straighter, his eyes roaming down the full length of her body, all but devouring the vision before him. With a small smile, she turned slightly, so that he could see the slit in one side of the skirt that traveled to mid-thigh, the flick of her tongue against her lips matching his own when he set sight of it. She turned then to face him fully, a blush climbing his face as he realized he'd been caught feeding hungrily on her vision. She watched as he shifted on the chair, his eyes taking in the outline of her breasts, her ribs, waist and hips. With a nibble at her lips with her teeth, she smiled at him.

"I take it you… uh… appreciate this one?"

"I think that's… er… apparent, don't you?" he rasped, as he glanced at his lap and shifted once more. She laughed, delighted.

"Seems so," she grinned, then with a toss of her head returned to the dressing room.

Four selections later she appeared in another silk dress, this one ending a mid-thigh, sporting long sleeves and a cowl neck. As clingy as the bronze number, his look once more focused on her legs, until she turned non-chalantly so that her back faced him. The neck of the red dress dipped so deep that it stopped just above the cleft of her bottom, baring her back to him nearly in its entirely. This time, there was nothing subtle about how he moved, as he shifted fully in his seat and a hand rubbed across his lower face.

With a salacious smile playing on her lips, Laura walked slowly towards him. Leaning over, she placed her hands on either arm of the chair in which he sat, giving him a clear view of pair of exquisite and currently unencumbered breasts. "Lauraaaaaaa," he warned on a low growl. She laughed, and bussed his neck, thrilled at his response, then stood, returning to the mirrors. Pretending to adjust the skirt, she lifted the hem just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her stocking on one leg. She watched in the mirror as he all but swallowed his tongue in response. Another laugh trickled across the air, as she disappeared beyond the dressing room door.

He spent the time until she reappeared trying to bring his raging body back under control. _Be careful what you hope for, old sport,_ he reminded himself. _I've spent years trying to lure the bold Laura out of hiding and here she is. Might have thought twice had I known she'd spend a great deal of time devising ways of putting my body thoroughly on edge._ He laughed at the folly of that thought. _Wouldn't trade it for the world._

* * *

Thirty minutes later, shoes and accessories picked out, they stepped back into the cab that had delivered them and returned to the hotel to prepare for the evening.

At eight-forty, they sat in the back of a limousine, on their way to Village on the Green. Laura had at first questioned his decision to rent a limo for the evening – on him, he'd reminded her – thinking a cab to and from the restaurant would have been far more practical. He'd finally convinced her his decision was not that far-reaching when costs of cab fare were compared to the cost of having a car at your immediate disposal all evening. Therefore, when the car pulled up to the curb outside of the Four Seasons, she'd happily settled into the cozy setting. As instructed when he'd made the reservation, the tinted glass was up, providing the privacy they'd need.

He glanced over at Laura. She was wearing the coat he'd given her in Vail atop the enticing little red number she'd picked up that afternoon. When she'd asked his opinion on what to wear that evening, he'd no doubt that he'd looked at her as though she'd lost her mind.

"Laura," he'd warned after crossing the room to wrap his arms around her and tuck her lower body against his, "unless you wish to end up being dragged to the restroom on the plane and joining the… what do they call it?... Ah, yes… the Mile High Club in some fashion, you'll be wanting to wear that little red dress tonight so that I can show you exactly what it does to me when we arrive back here." He'd kissed her, hot and hungry, in a hint of exactly what that was. With a laugh, she pulled herself away from him, reemerging for the evening in the red dress, snow white stockings and a strappy little pair of heels to pull it all together. As he'd helped her on with her coat, he'd been incapable of not tasting at least a couple of the freckles spattered across the nape of her neck.

Now, his eyes skimmed down her silhouette, the coat providing far too much coverage. With the merest of a brush of fingers against the back of her neck, Laura shrugged the coat free and turned her bare back to him, knowing it was the skin there he was seeking. He gave a quick glance at his watch, noting they would arrive in ten minutes, or there about, at the restaurant. Timing, would be everything. That determined, he began his sensual assault on her body.

The backs of fingers traveled along the length of her bare skin atop her spine, before lips settled along her partially bared shoulders. Tiny flicks of a tongue against dappled skin, gentle nips at the delightful little splotches and a tongue reaching out to taste nearly each one, had her pulse racing, her breath coming in small pants. An "Oh, god" whispered as he lowered her to her back on the seat, then stretched across her, as he wriggled the dress down, baring her breasts to his eyes. Fingers brushed and flicked against the luscious little twin mounds, before a mouth lowered to worship their pink peaks. A mouth covered hers, muting her cry when a hand journeyed up a thigh and a single finger traced along her core, sweeping panties to the side on its travels. Fingers danced across skin, as a mouth tugged upon hardened tips of a breast. When a horn blew, Laura didn't even notice, she was so lost the hum of every nerve in her body, awake and begging for more. A mouth claimed hers again, as a single finger found its way inside her sheath. She cried out arching wildly against him. The car halted, fingers rapped on the privacy window and he slid away from her, while offering her a hand up.

"You're kidding, right?" she growled, her breath coming in short gasps. She'd been on the edge of oblivion and her body ached from the completion it demanded. She watched as he slipped the digit that had been inside her into his mouth, his hum of appreciation making her entire body twitch. Only then did hands reach to help her right her clothes, as her entire body continued to shimmer with its demand for more. Helping her back into her coat, his lips fluttered down the column of her neck, before settling next to her ear.

"Paybacks, love," he whispered, before nipping gently at the lobe. He stiffened slightly when he'd realized the whispered endearment, then relaxed when it seemed she was too caught up in unsatisfied desire to notice. Opening the car door, he stepped out, offering her his hand once he'd stood. With a glare from her and a laugh from him, she joined him on the walk outside of the restaurant.

"This isn't over," she warned, as he led her, hand at her back, towards the restaurant doors.

"Of course it isn't," he answered agreeably.

"I'm serious, Mr. Steele," she continued.

"Of course you are," he nodded, flashing his pearly whites at her.

"As you pointed out… paybacks," she promised. With a hand around her waist, he spun her into his arms, pulling her close.

"I look forward to it, Miss Holt," he swore on a roughened voice, before his lips descended on hers. His lips brushed against then tugged on her own, until she opened under them. His tongue swept against hers in an erotic dance, letting her know exactly how much he was looking forward to what was to come. Low hums of pleasure rose from each of their throats, as his hand buried itself in her hair.

"Yo, get a room already," Murphy yelled from down the walk.

Laura and Steele tore their mouths apart and turned their heads towards him, Laura's face sporting a dazed look, Steele's a slight frown at the interruption. Gathering herself together quickly, she smiled towards her old friend and his wife. When kisses on cheeks, reluctant handshakes and pleasantries were exchanged, the two couples entered the restaurant together where they found Jason and Bernice already waiting. Seated in short order, thanks to reservations made months in advance, the three couples settled in for an evening of conversation, laughter and good food.

* * *

Steele ordered, as was tradition, for both he and Laura. Chestnut soup to start the meal, followed by Scottish Salmon with roasted artichokes, marble potatoes and citrus aioli and, in a departure from the decadent chocolate treats he normally tempted her with, an expresso crème brulee for desert. After their order was placed, he tested the waters to see where Laura was going to take her stance on acknowledging their personal relationship. A finger brushed the side of her hand. Without a moment's hesitation she slid her hand towards his. He covered it with his own, his fingers stroking the back of it. Her eyes caught his and with just a look, both acknowledged that they were not going to engage in subterfuge this evening in order to avoid Murphy's censure.

When the waiter departed, Jason leaned casually back in his seat, then addressed first his wife then the group as a whole.

"So, would someone like to fill me in on that bit this afternoon about breaking into the Federal Reserve and Laura falling off a beam?" His question was met with laughter from around the table.

"It's been eating at him all afternoon," Bernice informed the others with a great deal of amusement. "I told him he'd have to wait until tonight to get the full story because _I wasn't there_." She emphasized the last three words, as Jason had been nagging her on-and-off about the extent of her involvement.

"There's really not much to tell," Laura began.

"I pulled a man off a bridge before he could jump to his death, you see…" Steele continued, then paused for Laura to continue.

"He had been framed by someone and was at risk of being charged with stealing two and a half million dollars from the reserve. And he had done it, technically speaking, although under duress and then the money was stolen from him…."

"In order to prove his innocence," Steele picked up from where she left off flawlessly, "we had to find out who had been pulling the strings, so to speak, behind the scenes as well as locate the missing money and have it back in the bank before it opened Monday morning…" he gave Laura a smile, and with a squeeze of her hand, she finished the setup of the story.

"So I decided that we needed to break into the Federal Reserve, so that we could find the missing money and identify the actual thief," she finished with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You decided to break into the Federal Reserve…" Jason sat flabbergasted. He knew, of course, that they had from conversations earlier that afternoon but still couldn't believe it. He turned to Bernice. "And where were you?" She laughed at the question, having told him at least a dozen times before.

"It was the weekend. I was off, _remember_? I had no idea any of this had happened until after it was a fait accompli." Jason nodded and turned to Murphy and Sherry.

"And the two of you?" he asked.

"Oh, well, uh, Laura and Steele recruited me to watch after the client to make sure he didn't try to, uh, kill himself…" Murphy began.

"And since I was at Murphy's place that weekend and utterly fascinated, I decided to stick around and see what happened…" Sherry inserted.

"When they decided to break into the Reserve, they needed someone on the ground to… divert.. anyone that might happen by. Of course, I wanted in so I volunteered…" Murphy gave way to Sherry.

"And I insisted that I go because, frankly, I didn't want to miss out on all the action."

"Which was truly fortunate," Steele added, "As the only way Laura and I could get to the top of the building where it was easily breached, was to take a ride on a beam as it was lifted by a crane…"

"And I was the only one who knew how to operate the crane," Sherry filled in.

"Then Laura fell off the beam…" Jason supplied. Three heads nodded while one shook in the negative.

"I didn't fall," Laura insisted with a laugh, offended by the implication that she would be so clumsy. "I was knocked off when the boom suddenly yanked for some reason."

"How high were you when it happened?"

Laura looked at Steele, thinking about that night. "Ten, twelve stories?" she asked Steele. He shrugged.

"Sounds about right, although it's not something I try to dwell on," he pointed out. Her fingers laced with his and gave them a squeeze.

"That's more than a hundred feet," Jason pointed out. "You could have been killed." Three heads again nodded while one shook in the negative.

"He wouldn't let that happen. Didn't." Laura spoke confidently, while looking at Steele. His lips twitched in an air kiss.

"So don't keep me in suspense. What happened?"

"Oh, we found the money hidden in the ceiling of an office. The suspect pulled a gun on me…" Steele offered.

"Then I yanked the chair he was standing on out from under him…" Laura continued.

"And I fell on him, then knocked him out…" Steele noted.

"Case solved." Laura concluded.

Jason sat with his mouth hanging open. "Is this business as usual for you then?"

"Only after Steele stopped working in a purely 'advisory capacity'," Murphy said drolly.

"Happy to keep things interesting for you, Michaels," Steele smirked.

"So, you've had… similar cases?"

Murphy snorted, earning him an elbow in his side by Sherry warning him to behave.

"A few," Laura hedged with a smile. "Murphy and I were just talking about some of them earlier today. Weren't we, Murph?" Seeing Steele's look of surprise, Murphy was suddenly game to participate.

"Hmmmm, yeah, we were, weren't we, _partner_ ," he answered, emphasizing the last word to tweak Steele's nerves. "There was the time that the two of them broke into a museum to steal a famous painting that the Agency had been hired to protect. Laura ended up getting arrested during that case, if I remember, correctly, of course."

"I spent the night in jail," Laura clarified, for Jason. "And all the charges were dropped, of course."

"We broke Veronica Kirk out of an insane asylum, of course that was after Steele absconded with her and…" Murphy began, receiving another elbow in the side from Sherry and glare from Laura. Steele looked away, refusing to rise to the other man's need to bait him, if for no other reason than Laura's sake. He brushed his fingers across the top of her knuckles letting her know silently that all was fine. Jason unintentionally defused a potentially explosive situation, when he sat up straight at the name Veronica Kirk.

"Veronica Kirk? As in _Lady from Montana Mountains_ , Veronica Kirk?" he asked. Steele lifted a brow and smiled, impressed with the man, telling him as much.

"I'm impressed, Jason. Not many people are familiar with the B movies, no matter their value."

"Bernie gets the credit for that," Jason shrugged. "She got me hooked on old movies a long time ago." He grimaced when he took the toe of a shoe into a shin under the table. Turning to Bernice he found himself on the wrong side of a glare, while Laura tittered on the other side of the table.

"Laura, how did you do in the triathlon last week?" Bernice asked Laura, changing the topic as quickly as she could. Steele grinned at her, his eyes dancing with merriment. Bernice glared at him for good measure while squelching the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

The three couples discussed the various cases that Steele and Laura had been embroiled in as well as Murphy's agency and Jason's journey in scouting for a well-known label after he'd left his own band. Dinner conversation was light and full of laughter, and when the last of the plates had been cleared, all three couples sat back, appetites sated, with an aperitif in hand. Laura took a cursory sip from hers before setting it down on the table.

"Murphy, would you like to dance?" she asked. Two pairs of eyes moved to rest on her, one pair regarding her quizzically while another pair regarded her guardedly.

"Uh, sure, pal," the owner of the second pair hesitantly agreed. As she stood, Laura brushed her hand along Steele's arm then stilled against his shoulder for a moment. He lifted a hand and glanced fingertips against hers, letting her know he understood and all was well.

"Something tells me Murphy's about to get it," Bernice predicted, turning to see Sherry's reaction to this turn of events. Sherry smiled sedately.

"I warned him. But you know Murph," Sherry commented with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "He's a stubborn man."

Trying to lighten the mood, Steele leaned back and his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. With an amused smile, he turned to Bernice. "So, Ms. Wolf, satisfy my curiosity if you will. Precisely when did you become a connoisseur of old films, eh?" Bernice scrunched her nose at him.

"Couldn't you just give me a pass on this one?" she asked. He quirked a brow at her.

"Now where would the fun be in that?" he quipped, drawing a laugh from her. "So now, you and your love affair with old movies…."

On the dance floor, Murphy held Laura in frame stiffly, knowing full well that she was about to give him an earful. The longer she was silent, the more antsy he became. When she knew he was on edge, she struck.

"I never realized you thought I was stupid, Murph." Murphy's eyes widened as his jaw dropped.

"I have never once said you were stupid, Laura," he protested vehemently. "You are without a doubt one of the most intelligent women… No people," he corrected, "that I know."

"Naïve then. Incapable of seeing people for who and what they are. Easily conned, manipulated. Lacking common sense. Which is it, Murph?" she demanded in a heated whisper.

"You know better…" he began, for her to plow right over him.

"Do I? Three, four years ago? I get it. I was as skeptical, suspicious even, as you were. But enough's enough. It needs to stop… _now_."

"I'm just concerned about you…" Laura shook her head vehemently at him.

"I'm tired of saying this, so listen up. _I can take care of myself_. I don't need protection from anyone, most especially him. So let me make myself very clear on this: He's not going anywhere. He's a part of my life – a big part of my life – and if you can't be civil, let go of your issues with him, then we won't be able to get together any longer."

"Laura, you can't be serious," he protested. "You and I have been friends for more than a decade, partners for several years at that. You wouldn't just end that over…"

"I wouldn't like to, but yes, I will Murphy." She closed her eyes, thought carefully before she spoke again. "It's taken me a while to realize that each time you take a potshot at him, sling a barb, and I say nothing at all, I'm making a choice: you over him. He's never once complained, never asked me to defend him. He just takes it, out of respect for me, what our friendship means to me." She shook her head at the thought. "Well, no more. He deserves… No that's not the correct word… He has _the right_ to know that I choose him. _Every time_. That what we have takes precedence over anything else."

Murphy examined her critically for a minute. "You trust him," he stated simply.

"I do," she answered, straightforward in her answer. He nodded, considered her again.

"You're in love with him." Laura laughed softly, then turned her head to Steele, waited until she caught his eyes. Without a word spoken between them, he set his napkin on the table, and stood, heading towards her.

"That's between him and me. But I will say this much on the topic and nothing further: You told me within the first two months of him being with the Agency that I was getting in too deep." She tapped his shoulder lightly with her hand. "What did you think that meant, Murph?"

He laughed lightly. "It was that damned magnum of champagne, wasn't it?" Laura looked at him, a bit sadly, and shook her head in the negative.

"I hope you really don't think I'm that shallow." She smiled at Steele as he neared. "No, it was when we were at the morgue after his friend Wallace was murdered. The attendant treated Wallace like any other derelict in the street, and I'll never forget what he said."

" _ **That**_ _ **stiff**_ _ **once made 27 straight passes in a crap game, he had a daughter he put through college, he liked to fish off King's Point, and he read the 'Wizard of Id'. That STIFF was my friend."**_

"He didn't care what happened to himself, even knowing that I blamed him, blamed Wallace," she continued on. "He vowed to find out who killed Wallace. Then when we did, he donated the $50,000 he won in a polo match to Wallace's mission. No, it was never the champagne. It was his heart." And, like earlier in the day at the wedding, Murphy knew by the change in her expression that Steele was standing behind him. Bussing her on the cheek, he leaned in to speak next to her ear.

"I'll do my best, Laura. I don't want to lose you either." Laura closed her eyes and nodded, then moved away from him to slide into Steele's arms, pressing herself close to him when she did. Tucking her head underneath his chin, they danced in quiet throughout the remainder of the song that had been playing before he dipped his head down so his lips brushed her ear.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly. Laura lifted her head and smiled at him.

"No. Maybe later." Her voice was calm, but still he searched her eyes, her face. When he found she looked pensive but did not appear to be upset, he nodded his head slightly. Her fingers pressed against the back of his neck, and he brushed his lips against hers in response. "The only thing I want to do right now, Mr. Steele, is dance with you, if that's okay?" He touched her lips with his again and pulled her back close to him.

"It always is, Miss Holt, it always is." He closed his eyes, and lost himself in the music and Laura.

(Continued)


	4. Chapter 4

**_This Chapter contains mature themes. If you are uncomfortable with explicit content or under the age of 18, please continue on the Chapter 5._**

* * *

(Chapter 4)

By the time Laura and Steele returned to their suite, their desire to be close to one another had moved from wanted to out-and-out need. After a month of too little time together, two days of teasing coupled with a night of glancing touches, sultry looks and a tantalizing ride home in which both mouths and hands had wandered, neither doubted the night would end in a very thorough exploration of one another's bodies.

Plus, as Laura had told him that afternoon, she had a plan although, based on the room service cart standing in the center of the living area of the suite, it appeared Steele had a plan of his own. Laura ran her fingers along the edge of the cart as she took in the champagne and strawberries. She tapped her fingernails against the crystal vase occupying the center of the cart listening to the tinkle of the glass, before bending down to inhale the scent of the roses held within. Turning, she pushed herself up on her tip toes and swept her lips across his.

"They're beautiful," she told him softly, fully expecting him to follow with the age old line heard by women for centuries – 'not as beautiful as you' – yet it was not forthcoming. Instead, his eyes dropped to her necklace, fingering the heart that adorned it. He'd not needed to say a word, as his eyes said it all. They shone now with the same look they'd held earlier as he'd helped her slip into the coat she'd chosen to wear that evening.

Now, he stepped behind her, and with fingers around the collar of the coat, slipped it down over her shoulders, pressing his lips to that spot where shoulder met neck, before sliding it off her arms. While he stepped away to hang both of their coats, she moved to the stereo tucked into the corner of the room and shuffled through the channels until music filled the room. In a routine born of familiarity, he moved to light the gas fireplace while she opened the champagne and filled each flute half way. Joining him across the room, she handed him a glass.

"What shall we toast to?" she asked.

"To time alone, without interruption?" he suggested.

"Mmmm, sounds good to me," she hummed. With a clink of crystal, they entwined their arms, then leaned in for a soft kiss. Taking his glass out of his hand, she set both on a nearby table then slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, before looping her arms around his neck. Without a word exchanged between them, he slid his arms around her waist and they began to dance. Cerulean eyes and amber ones caught and held, her fingertips toying at the back of his neck.

"You've missed them," Steele commented. Laura tilted her head to the side, considering his words.

"Yes. Not like I did those first few months, but the three of us? We were a team. Bernice and Murphy took a risk when they joined me at the Agency, knowing full well that any day everything could blow up in our faces."

"Friendship bound by a secret?"

"No. More like bound by faith. Faith that we could pull off the ruse, faith in each other. Murphy and I were friends at Stanford, later at Havenhurst."

"In on it from the start, then, eh?"

"Not at all. I realized fairly early on that I'd need help – a partner to watch my back, someone to run the office." She laughed at the memory. "Murphy hadn't been any happier than I at Havenhurst. When I first approached him, told him what I'd done, he asked if I was out of my mind. But, as straight as an arrow as he is, the idea of pulling this off had a certain kind of…"

"Allure?" She nodded and hummed her assent. "Would he have stayed I'd not happened along?" Laura lifted her eyes upward, mulling it over.

"Maybe," she answered honestly, her eyes returning to his. "I think it was hard on him. We'd been partners for two years. Then suddenly, I was working with you all the time instead of him. I didn't even realize how much you and I _did_ work together until he said something about a year ago."

"Which was?"

"That he'd always dreamed of owning an agency of his own one day, and when he was reduced to mostly running to the morgue to gather autopsy reports, he realized the time had come."

"More than one reason to resent me then, eh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Both of our sights set on you… then feeling I'd supplanted him as your partner." She shrugged lightly.

"I guess. But whether or not you'd come along, Murphy's hopes for us, at least on the personal level, would have never come to the light of day." She laughed again. "Although he certainly made a valiant attempt at it after."

"Ah, the kiss in your office," he grinned.

"Among other things, yes," she nodded. He tilted his head and studied her, a crinkle forming between his brows.

" _What_ other things?" She laid her hand on his cheek with a smile, before returning it to the back of his neck.

"Other than a declaration of undying devotion? Nothing." Steele grunted irritably.

"Seems Morrie Singer was correct."

"Oh?" she asked curiously.

"That Murphy's an 'unconscionable swine'." Laura's laugh hung in the air of the room.

"And how, may I ask, do you come to that conclusion?"

"Murphy was well aware that I… we…," he stumbled, trying not to reveal more than he was prepared to "… that there was something between you and I."

"And you knew that Murphy held certain.. hopes… for he and I. Doesn't that make you an 'unconscionable swine' as well?" she teased.

"Don't be absurd. Completely different circumstances."

"How's that?" she challenged, enjoying throwing him off balance. He frowned at her, lips pursed before a self-satisfied smile crossed his face.

"Because when he made his move, you and I were already doing this," he answered, tipping up her chin with a single finger to barely glance his lips against hers. The kiss was meant to be playful, but for two people already on edge, it charged the atmosphere around them and, with a single step forward by Laura and a press of fingertips against the back of his neck, it moved to a whole new level. His lips brushed hers again then settled over them, his hand sliding to the back of her neck to press her closer. Teeth nipped softly, a tongue flicked against willing lips then slid inside a mouth to plunder as a pair of hands found a tie, unknotted it then slung it aside. When a small hand glanced over the firm cheek of his bottom, Steele tore his mouth away from hers on a groan, to look down at her, assess. Her tongue touched her lips, both to savor his taste still on her mouth and in anticipation. She pushed herself up on her tip-toes and ran a series of nip-kisses up his neck to his ear.

"I have a plan," she whispered. She felt his body quake against hers in anticipation.

"By all means, do share," he rasped, his chin lifting up and eyes closing as her lips feathered across his neck to the other side.

"As close to the grand slalom as one can get without passing through that final gate," she answered, lips and mouth working the sweet spot under his ear until she heard a small moan in the back of his throat. Her lips lifted in a smile against his neck. "I take it you're agreeable then?" she teased.

"Yes," he answered on a shaky breath. His fingers trailed up her neck, then hooked around it, drawing her away from his neck and her lips back to his. Where the first kiss was hunger filled, this one was the tender, tantalizing kisses that never failed to curl her toes and make her knees want to buckle. They lost themselves in this kiss even as her hands slid from his back to his sides, slowly exploring each ridge and dip of his ribs with sensitive fingers. Only when she'd explored each one did splayed hands run up his chest to meet at the button at his throat. Slowly, nimble fingers worked free first one button then two. Only as the third was released did her lips leave his to settle at the base of his throat, to kiss, to nip, to taste. Hands that had remained chastely on her back, began to roam the skin bared by the backless dress. Needing to taste the skin there his fingers, settled at her waist, urged her to turn. She shook her head, even as her lips continued to tease.

"Not yet. My turn," she murmured. He fought the urge to clench his fists at his sides, knowing by her voice, her words, that she was about to take him on a delightfully tortuous and sensual trip. For now, he would have to settle for exploring only those areas immediately available with fingers that needed to feel her under them. He nodded then sighed, as another button was released, and fingers dipped under the cloth to touch, to tease.

Ever so slowly Laura worked her way down the row of buttons. Each release of a button demanded that every newly bared piece of skin be lavished with attention. Fingers danced, lips grazed, teeth nipped gently, a tongue tasted. She worked her magic until she woke each nerve and his body hummed. Only when the last button was released and she'd contented herself with learning every nuance of his abdomen with her hands, did her lips return to his. On a stuttered sigh, his lips settled over hers, quietly feeding on the texture of her lips, the taste of her mouth as her hands pulled his shirt free of his pants. Fingers released cufflinks, before hands ran up over his chest again, then slowly pushed the shirt over his shoulders. He shook his arms allowing it to drop to the floor. When delicate hands moved to the buckle of a belt, his body twitched as he hummed a hum of thanksgiving. She laughed softly against his mouth.

As her hands worked, slowly once more, to divest him of his belt, his lips left hers to meander across a jaw, down a neck, stopping only when they found that sweetest of spots where her neck met shoulder. Lips brushed, a tongue lathed and a mouth pulled softly, until he felt her shudder in reaction, her hands clutching at his hips, fingers sinking into the flesh. He trailed a path of kisses up the column of her neck, as his fingers found the top of a stocking, running along it, then the hem of a skirt was lifted so his hands could explore a deliciously firm and rounded bottom clothed only in an excuse of a scrap of lace. Laura arched into him, and this time said not a word as he slowly worked the dress up her body. Her fingers fumbled on the button of his pants, and she stepped back, holding up her arms as he freed the dress from her. The backs of fingers shimmied down her side as he stared.

"My God, Laura, you're stunning," he whispered. She stood bared before him, except for a tiny pair of red panties, a garter and those silky white thigh high stockings that he longed to remove from her body with his teeth. So caught up in the vision before him was he, that he was unaware when his pants dropped to his ankles. It was only when Laura kneeled down before him, removing first one shoe, then then the other, allowing him to step out of them, that he realized she had neatly divested him of all but the black briefs he wore underneath. After quickly relieving him of his socks, she stood, hands skimming his bared legs on the way up, one of those hands palming his throbbing erection as she stepped back towards him. Arms encircling her, he drew her in for a kiss that was both somehow passion filled yet mind-numbingly tender at once. She sighed and moaned at the same time against his mouth, then lifting a leg to rub against the back of his thigh, looped her arms around his neck, giving a soft tug. His hands found the fullness of each cheek of her bottom and lifted her until her legs were wrapped around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom, their lips still melded, stopping when he reached the side of the bed. Releasing her legs, she slid down his body, thighs rubbing against thighs, as pert nipples glazed across his chest when she found her feet once more. With a touch of her fingers to a shoulder, she indicated he should get in bed.

"I'll be right back," she murmured against his lips, then left his arms heading towards the bathroom.

Unlike days past when she'd pull away and he'd feel absolutely deflated knowing that she was putting an end to any further contact on the evening, Steele had no such concerns now. Instead, as he pulled down the comforter to the end of the bed, then stacked a couple of pillows and reclined against the backboard, he knew whatever she was doing it was with pleasure in mind. Yet, right at this moment, he wished she'd hurry up about it, as his body ached to feel her hands on it, while he veritably itched to feel her under his mouth, his fingers, his hands.

Strolling through the room as casually as if she were wearing one of her classically styled business suits rather than the pair of panties and stockings that she was, Laura dropped a towel, washcloth, and a bottle of massage oil off on the side table, before heading into the living room and pushing the cart of champagne and strawberries back into the room. Joining Steele on the bed, she immediately slung a leg over him and straddled his lap. Before she was fully settled, fingers found the back of her neck, drawing her near him.

"Come here, Laura," he coaxed. She hesitated. She had a plan for the evening, and didn't wish to be deterred, but unable to resist the lure of blue eyes filled with hunger she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to him. His fingers swept her hair over her shoulders before taking both sides of her head and drawing her lips to his. He tempted and teased until she pressed her body against him. The feeling of her bare breasts against his equally bare chest saw him deepening the kiss until Laura broke away trying to catch her breath. The hand at the middle of her back flattened against it, nudging her upwards until she was on her knees.

"I need to taste you," he murmured huskily in the moment before his mouth claimed a nipple, lips alternately teasing it and giving it a firm tug while a lone finger swirled in ever smaller circles around the nipple of her other breast. Of their own accord, Laura's arms tightened around his neck to urge him closer while she arched into him.

"I have a plan, Mr. Steele," she reminded him, before a playful nip made her gasp then moan.

"As do I, Miss Holt," he smiled against her skin before trailing his lips across her chest to take possession of the nipple thus far left behind. He flicked a tongue against her teasingly, making her inhale swiftly. "And it seems yours runs contrary to my own." His lips brushed against her, sending shivers down her spine, before a tongue circled and a mouth drew her in.

"Oh god," she mumbled on a staccato breath, as her brain turned to mush at the feel of herself in his mouth. It took considerable effort to press her hands against his shoulders and wrest her breast free with a small pop. Sinking back down on his lap, removing her breasts from the immediate vicinity of his mouth, she lightly jabbed a finger at his chest, and did her best to scowl. "Uh-uh, you first."

A crooked grin lifted his lips. "By all means, Miss Holt, if you insist." And, before she could blink, in a neat little maneuver, he grasped the cheeks of her bottom and folded himself forward and over her. They landed with her underneath, facing the foot of the bed. A helpless laugh escaped her.

"Not fair, Mr. Steele," she managed to say before the swift fingers of a former thief managed to swipe away her panties and a finger swept along her core. His lips tasted the small moan that escaped her lips while he shifted to his side to indulge his need to touch her ribs, her waist, the sensitive skin of her abdomen and a hip. Her lips lifted to press against his when a moan of his own rumbled deep in his chest as his fingers skimmed along stocking clad legs. His lips left her, returning to a breast, as deft fingers returned to part flesh, find a sensitive nub and tease and tempt.

"You…first," she panted, her hand reaching down to sweep his away from her. Instead, her back arched upward, when a finger dipped into her spasming passage.

"Absolutely… me first," he agreed, words muffled by the breast in which he had his face buried. As a finger began to stroke, a thumb moved to tease a nub. Helpless against the assault on her senses, Laura gave in. Her hands sought his skin, needing to feel him under her hands when she came apart. Lifting his head, he blew across the nipple he'd been lathing as a second finger joined the first, stroking her in a smooth, fast rhythm that had her hips lifting in time to his motions. His lips skimmed along her skin to return to the other breast. A gentle nip and a firm pull was all that was needed to make her shatter. Even as he continued to stroke, an arm gathered her tight against him, as her arms wrapped around his neck pulling him closer yet, and he burrowed his face in the crook of her shoulder, rubbing his lightly whiskered face against her skin while his mouth grazed. Only when the last shudder of bliss left her body limp against his arm, did he remove his fingers from her so that his hand was free to begin a new round of sensual assaults upon her body. Realizing what he had in mind, Laura tucked a leg between his and in a neat little maneuver of her own, flipped him to his back, she landing full length atop of him.

"My turn," she insisted breathily. Pushing herself up, she perched over his abdomen. She lifted one of his hands and fluttered her fingers from tip of finger to start of wrist, making his hand flex in response.  
"But these…" she began, picking up his other hand and repeating the action "… especially since you can't behave … are off limits. No touching until I say. Call it a challenge, a little game if you want…. Perhaps a little payback for the limo tonight," she smiled saucily at him. "But if you lose, and touch me before I tell you, you lose your turn." A small thrill raced through his body. _Ah, playful Laura, nice to meet you,_ he thought in his head.

"Imaging you'll make me beg, eh?" he teased.

"Oh… I have _no doubt_ , that you'll do _just that_ before I'm done," she smirked.

"Is that right?" he laughed.

"Mmmmm hmmmm, it is."

"Challenge accepted then, Miss Holt," he answered with a smug look of confidence. Never before had a woman made him beg, quite the opposite was true actually. This, he knew, was one game that he would win. He folded his arms behind his head with a smile. "Feel free to start at any time," he taunted.

Laura leaned forward and pressed her lips under his ear. "Oh, I'll start," she veritably purred, before returning to the spot to nibble, suck and lathe it with her tongue, until he she felt him twitch against her mouth.

Easing a hand out from behind his head, she feathered her fingers up and down each digit from palm to tip, until his fingers clenched involuntarily. A smile playing on her lips, she brought each finger in turn to her mouth, nibbling on the pads, before taking it into her mouth, lathing it, and tap dancing her tongue across it. Peeking a glance at Steele, she found his eyes were closed and his breathing slightly elevated, a soft smile of pleasure on his lips. Her lips moved to suckle the pulse point at his wrist, until she watched his fingers flex again. Slowly she worked her way up his arm, kissing, nibbling, tasting and suckling lightly along the way. His sighs were audible before she reached his shoulder. She paused in her explorations to run her lips against his, tempting and teasing with lips and teeth until he leaned into her trying to deepen the kiss. She slid away and he chuckled. Easing the other hand from behind his head, she showered his hand and arm with the same attention at the first.

"I must say, Laura, this feels wonderful," he murmured, eyes still closed. She gave a quick nip at her bottom lip, before doing the same to him. He jerked a little at the unexpected action then settled back against the pillows once more with a smile. He was relaxed and content…and exactly where she wanted him. A single finger slowly moved from chin to waistband of his briefs, its only stop along the way to circle a navel and dip inside for a moment. Her tongue flicked against her lips as she watched each muscle twitch as her finger ran over it. When Laura looked at Steele to gauge his reaction, she found intense, indigo blue eyes leveling her within their sites. Moving forward, over him, hands twirled in his hair, while lips grazed hungrily on his, flitting away when he moved in for more.

"Lauraaaa," he complained, earning him a chuckle in response.

"I'm not done yet…not even close," she advised.

Splayed hands now stroked from shoulder to waist, pausing to allow nails to lightly scrape through the thick hair of his chest, to rub a thumb across a nipple. As hands continued to dance across his chest and ribs, exploring with a thoroughness belying the detective that she was, her mouth began a sensual trek of its own. Ear lobes were nipped and suckled, sweet spots below the ear lathed with a tongue, and a neck was kissed and its skin drawn softly into a mouth so a tongue could dance across it. Lips returned to his to tempt, taste, tease, but this time stayed when his tongue begged permission to explore her teeth, tongue and recesses of her mouth. A hand slid out from behind a head to tangle into hair, only for her to rapidly disengage from the kiss, darting away. He moaned deep in his throat at the loss of her, then moaned only louder when a tongue darted across his nipple.

"Laura," he murmured, lifting his hips under her, desperate to feel the touch of her hand upon his now throbbing erection. In response she rocked her hips, grinding herself against him, watched as a hand raised from the bed and moved towards a hip.

"No touching," she reminded him, her own breath coming a little harder now. "Don't worry, I'll get there."

"Or drive me mad before you do," he groaned.

"Perhaps the both of us," she answered, voice strained, drawing a soft laugh from him. Turning her attention to his other nipple, she lavished it with attention: a flick of a tongue, a soft nip of the teeth, a hard pull by the mouth, as a single finger moved under the waistband of his briefs to run along the edge, teasing yet never coming near the place where he hungered to feel her gentle touch. He thanked God when her hands at last reached to tug at his briefss, realizing at her joyful laugh he'd spoken the words aloud. A flush spread across his body as he acknowledged she might well have him begging before she was through.

Laura's hands left the waistband, a sultry laugh answering a disappointed moan, before a hand tucked inside, her fingers brushings across the tip of his arousal. He exhaled a hard, shuddering breath at her contact with him, his hand moving towards her head to draw his lips to his. Laura looked up and stared at his hand with a look of smug satisfaction. Catching the look he dropped his hand to the bed with a grumble of discontent.

 _So close. Laura pleaseeeeeeeee,_ he thought in his head, then cringed as he realized, in his head or not, the begging had begun. When Laura's fingers hooked around the waistband of his briefs, no hint had to be given. He gladly and hurriedly lifted his hips, sighing when she slid them off his legs. A tremor ran through his body when a single finger stroked up his shaft from base to tip. With what little ability he had left to think, he realized the competition was based on touching not pleading, and in that moment decided to toss all pride aside.

"Laura, please," he beseeched. In response she leaned over and kissed him hard and deep, as the fingers of a hand wrapped around his engorged length. A shudder of relief shook him, drawing a smile from her that he could feel against his lips. He knew a moment of panic when she sat up, and was fully prepared to toss in his hat on the challenge and yank her back down to him if she attempted to leave. His eyes rolled back in his head, when he saw her pour a little oil into her hand, then reach for him again.

She clasped his penis in her hand, opening and closing her fist around it several times, watching with pursed lips as his hips ground backwards into the bed, as she knew they would. This move, in particular, drove him mad, and she would oft utilize it to bring him quickly to release when it so suited her. Tonight, given they still had a long way to go, it suited her purposes perfectly. Running a thumb around the rim of the head, saw him grabbing at the sheets of the bed.

"Oh my god, Laura," he ground out, "Don't stop." Leaning over she pressed her lips against his, briefly, as her hand began to move. There were few things she enjoyed more than bringing absolute pleasure to this man she adored. And at the moment, she wanted to pitch him over the edge of oblivion, so that she could hear his hums and words at the peak of ultimate pleasure. Her fingers opened and closed around him again, leaving him squirming beneath her hand. Clasping him again, she picked up the tempo of her hand as it moved smoothly around him before she leaned down and sucked firmly where base of neck met collarbone, sending him careening over the edge. She leaned down to kiss him as he pulsed in her hand, his lips greedily taking all that she offered. Only when she felt him begin to soften in her hand, did she move her lips away from his, in order to sit up and reach for the washcloth and towel.

Blue eyes dazed with passion watched as she cleaned him off then tossed towel and washcloth across the room. He reached for her then, needing to touch her, only to be met with a shake of her head.

"Uh-uh, I'm not done yet." At her words, he wasn't sure if he should thank God once more or damn fate.

"What more?" he asked, he asked his nerves lit in anticipation and something akin to dread.

"You'll see," she answered with a lift of her brows, leaning forward. He stared at pert breasts topped with hardened peaks that were now at eye level. His tongue flicked against his lips in eager anticipation, hoping that she would lower herself down so he could have a little taste.

"You have no idea how to play fair, Laura," he complained as his hands fairly itched with the need to palm one of the succulent little mounds.

"I play to win, Mr. Steele," she drawled. With a touch of fingers to a shoulder, she told him, "Turn over."

He grinned, then rolled to his stomach, believing that it would not be possible for her to push him to the point of begging in this particular position. Laura, on her part lifted her brows, knowing that his mind would wander in that direction and knowing that he would be wrong. Stretching out to reach the cart, she gathered a handful of ice cubes in her hand. At her movement and the clanging of ice against metal, he opened his eyes to see what she was up to. His eyes widened, as he realized he'd forgotten that Laura's creativity for taking him to the edge knew no bounds. Knowing now what was on her mind, had his entire body growing taut.

 _Dear damn, I'm going to be begging within minutes,_ he thought to himself. Seeing the look on his face as she slung her leg over his back to perch on his glorious behind, Laura knew she'd won the game before this round ever started.

"Let's begin, shall we?" she teased.

His back arched when the tip of an ice cube ran along his shoulders, Laura's mouth trailing behind in its wake. He hummed, deep in his throat, as the ice cube moved slowly down his spine, her mouth catching the rivulets of water that formed when the ice melted against hot skin. Scooting back, until she straddled his legs, Laura circled the ice cube at the base of his spine, lips and tongue lathing the sensitive area, leaving him quaking and fisting the bed sheets in his hands.

"My God, Laura," he mumbled, as his back arched again.

But it was not until the ice cube began its journey over a cheek of his behind then continued downward over the back of a thigh, that he truly understood, for the first time, what the expression sweet agony meant. The feeling of cold meeting hot, the tiny streams of water running down his skin, the press of Laura's lips, the touch of her tongue against the sensitive skin, sent his desire into the stratosphere. He twisted the sheets in his hand, resisting the urge to beg for mercy. When her teeth nipped playfully at a cheek, he tossed away his determination.

"Enough, Laura," he finally groaned, as he shifted his hips to release the pressure on his throbbing arousal.

"Not nearly enough," she purred in disagreement. Pushing herself up to perch once more on his bottom, she leaned forward and began to rub the tautened peaks of her breast against his back, drawing a deep guttural moan from him, before two hands eased between his chest and the bed, the ice cubes that she had palmed rubbing against his nipples. His breath hissed between his teeth, and he gave in to the need to plead for mercy.

"Laura, pleaseeeee, I can't take much more of that," he croaked. In response, Laura stretched the length of her body across his back, her breasts pressed tight against his skin, as her mouth began to suckle and nip at the base of his neck. She felt his heart rate escalate, his breathing become ragged as he was overwhelmed by so many sensations at once. A single hand slid out from underneath of him, only to tuck under his hip and clasp his hardened length. His hips lifted so quickly in response to the contact that he knocked her right off of him, sending her sprawling to her back on the bed, laughing. In a moment of desperation, he flipped himself onto his back, lest she consider starting the assault on his senses once more. Pushing himself up to recline against the backboard again, he slung an arm over his eyes, fought to regain control. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how one looked at it, Laura was having none of it. Moving to the end of the bed, she picked up a foot and skimmed her nails along the sole. His leg flinched almost violently in response.

Lifting his arm, he looked down at her past his heaving chest.

"Laura," he said warningly.

"What?" she batted her lashes at him in faux innocence, then ran her nails over the sole of his foot a second time. His foot jerked again, and he leaned up to brush her hand away. She raised a brow. "Giving up?"

He grimaced visibly and flopped back onto his back.

"Not on your life," he murmured, slinging his arm back over his eyes, pursing his lips quickly at her in a kiss. Laura puckered her lips, and seeing that he was slowly climbing back down the mountain of pleasure she'd been shoving him to the top of just a minute earlier, decided it was time to put this little game to bed. Laying his foot on the bed, she bent over it as her hand reached upwards. She nibbled along the tips of his toes, while her nails gently scraped along the inside of his thigh. There was no hiding the almost violent intake of breath, or the sound of a hand slapping the bed as it reached the twist in the sheets. Moving slightly backwards, she leaned over the second foot, while her fingers moved to tickle along the underside of his scrotum, her eyes watching as his erection jumped. Her lips glanced along his calf, until her mouth stopped to pull against the skin on his inner knee ripping her name from deep within his throat.

She tittered with satisfaction. Moving up the bed on her hands and knees, she slung a leg over him, straddling his abdomen with her back towards him. Leaning over, her lips found his inner thigh, while fingers of her free hand tickled his perineum. He was prepared to beg her to set him free, allow him to touch, when he lifted the arm from his eyes and saw her perfect, delectable little bum wiggling in front of him, just begging for a hand to run over it. As though that were not enough to make a grown man cry and praise the gods above, the fact that that little bum was perched over the shapely legs he adored, that were currently wrapped in thigh high stockings, destroyed whatever resolve he might have left.

"Laura," he panted her name, drawing her attention. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, saw the desperation on his face, as a hand hovered near her thigh.

"Do you need to touch?" she asked in a sing-song voice.

"Yes," he admitted on a hiss of breath. She quirked her lips, taking momentary satisfaction in the fact that she'd won, then set him free. "Go ahead, then."

His hands shot out and grasped her hips, pulling her backwards, his teeth taking a playful nip at the cheek of her bottom. He caught her off guard, and she let out a squeak as she scrambled away. Laughing, he pushed himself to a sitting position and gave chase, his long arms wrapping around her waist and drawing her back to him before she could escape. Lips found the crook of her neck, as a hand quickly found the breast it had been craving to touch. Her back arched and her hand reached behind him to cup his head in her palm.

"I'm not done yet," she moaned.

"I've not yet started," he countered silkily, as his lips skimmed up her neck and a thumb flicked across a nipple. His hand nudged at her hip, and she turned in his arms at his silent request. Lacing her fingers through his hair, she leaned into his kiss when his lips met hers. He fed hungrily, a testament to the levels to which she'd pushed his desire, before he settled into the tender, teasing kisses, that made her toes curl. His hand traced her ribs, explored the sensitive skin and waist, traversed a firm bottom before sliding along silken stockings that made his pulse race. She smiled against his mouth while a hand dipped under his shoulder to lightly score his back with her nails. He arched his back on a hum, wrapping an arm around her and flipping her to her back.

Looking down at her, he flipped her hair over her shoulder. A single digit skimmed down a cheekbone, over a jaw, before following a path from neck to hip. He knew he had not wrested control from her, that she was only allowing him as much as she wanted and would turn the situation on its heel the moment it suited her. It was an aphrodisiac in itself that she not only matched his passion but his determination to bring him as much exquisite pleasure as he enjoyed bringing her. For now, however, the smoky amber eyes looking up at him watched his every movement, asking that he drive her over the edge. _My absolute pleasure,_ he thought to himself.

Leaning down, his lips meandered across the column of her neck until they found that sweet spot under an ear that turned her to mush. He lathed, nipped, suckled and blew until she squirmed beneath him, while his fingers drew pretty patterns across the sensitive skin of her waist and hip. Her lips parted, inhaled a short gasp, her eyes never leaving him. His lips returned to hers to tantalize, provoke, while long tapered fingers found a breast, tracing its outline before ever so slowly spiraling inwards until a nipple was brushed. On a soft cry against his mouth, her back arched upwards and even as fingers explored his hair and scalp, managed to nudge him in the direction where she most wanted to feel his mouth. With a final, playful pull on her lip, his lips left hers to nip-kiss a path to a breast. She sighed deeply when his mouth found her nipple, taunting it until it puckered hard and proud, while his hand found her thigh exploring the silken stockings with a rumble of deep pleasure. With a touch of regret, his hand abandoned its explorations so that a single finger could slip along her core while his mouth left one breast to find another. Brushing aside the flesh of her wet folds, he found the center of her desire, and rubbed, once, twice, three times, his mouth pulling in tandem on her nipple, sending her over the edge. An arm moved behind her back, pulling her to him as her body shuddered and writhed during her climax, the soft call of his first name spilling goosebumps across his skin.

For long moments, she lay trying to regain control as her body still twitched in the aftermath, yet as always, before she recovered from the beauty of the first orgasm, he was starting her on the way to her next. Swift hands divested her of the garter, leaving only stockings behind, as his lips and mouthed paid tribute to the dapples of color on shoulders and chest. Leaving her, as hands reached to bring him back, he returned to his semi-reclining position on the bed, before a touch of his fingers urged her to join him. Slinging a leg over him, she settled herself on her knees then leaned back against him.

If asked, Steele would be unable to pinpoint a single reason that this was the position in which he most liked to explore her lovely little body for there were too many reasons from which to choose. It was in the way her head lay against his shoulder, the breath from each quivering sigh and fervored cry caressing his neck, cheek or ear. It was in the availability of her lips, to touch, taste, explore. It was in how he could watch her skin turn rosy in response to the passion he evoked from her with each touch. It was that she was totally open to him and in the way she would watch as he stroked and plucked while his skillful hands pushed her towards the peak. It was the feel of her round, firm little behind clenching against his erection as she climbed upwards and the moan rending friction when she squirmed under his hands. It was her fingers tucking behind his head to thread through his hair or dipping between their bodies to tease stomach, hips, her hands only stopping their movement when they would clutch at his sides when she shattered. And it was in how he was able to hold her close as he pushed her over the precipice, feeling each tremor, each clenching muscle as she found her release. Yet, perhaps, if pushed for a definitive answer as to why, it was simply because this was the way he'd first held her in Vail when at last she'd given herself over to their mutual desire.

For Laura, it was positively intoxicating. The feel of the silky hair of his chest rubbing against her back sent currents rippling through her body, only heightening her response to watching his long, tapered fingers orchestrate any number of paths to make her climb ever upwards until she shattered. The fact that it was his hands that she watched, as they journeyed along her body… those hands that were her favorite part of him… only made watching all the more arousing. The fact that when she moved, her bottom brushed enticingly against a very sensitive part of him heightening his own arousal was an outstanding perk in its own right.

Lips returned to neck, nipping and nibbling, before the touch of fingers to a cheek urged her to turn her head so lips could meet. They fed on one another as his hands studied her curves, the plane of her flat abdomen, lacing his fingers intermittently with her own, only to leave to memorize the map of her body once more. Her fingers traced a path across his shoulder, up his neck, to trace and ear, before making a pathway through his hair. A palm on her abdomen urged her upwards to her knees, as the crafty fingers of his other hand, sought to unleash the secrets of the folds of flesh between her legs. As two fingers slid inside, finding that most sensitive spot inside and began to stroke, fingers that had discovered her breasts in his hand's journeys, plucked and flicked at sensitive nipples. His mouth left her then, to taste, to nibble their way along shoulder, a neck, below an ear. A small hand reached between them and fingers feathered across his twitching length, found the head, circled and teased, drawing a fierce moan from his lips. He increased the tempo and pressure of the fingers inside her, and when he suckled on the skin at the base of her neck, she shattered.

"Remington," she called out on a soft sigh, before she cried out at the force of her climax, his mouth finding hers so that he could taste her as she found her release. When the orgasm finally released its hold on her, she sunk back down on his lap running her hands over the arms that held her tight against him, before threading her fingers with his and laying her head back against his shoulder.

"Amazing," she murmured against his neck. A single finger touched her chin, urging her to turn towards him. Turning herself in his arms, she watched as his lips descended towards hers. The tenderness of the kiss left her breathless. When their lips parted, he laid a hand against her face and she leaned into it. With a pull at her bottom lip with her teeth, and a lift of a corner of her mouth that flashed a dimple, she took her hand in his and drew his middle finger into her mouth, suckling it. His hips jerked beneath her at the sensation, turning her amber eyes molten while a lascivious smile danced across her lips that held a promise of what was to come.

Pushing herself up to settle more firmly on Steele's lap, Laura traced intricate patterns down both sides of his neck with her fingers. Splayed fingers moved to his chest, unpainted nails skittering down the length of his torso from shoulder to waist, then back up again. Fingertips fluttered through the dense hair of his chest. She watched his pecs flex and jump under her fingers, enthralled by the way the hair would skim over the top of exploring fingers then fall back into place when they left. A single digit circled his nipple, his body tensing in anticipation of her touch. She arched her back, her lips lifting in a sultry smile when his hands drifted along her back from shoulder to bottom, stopping to play with the top of her cleft before moving to stroke the sensitive skin of her hips. Her attentions on him never waned, despite the shivers of pleasure that brought goosebumps to her skin.

His eyes never left her as she paid rapt attention to his chest and torso. He found her utterly beguiling in this. The looks that played across her face when she touched him here mesmerized him as he tried to identify each of them: Passion, contentment, fascination, satisfaction, desire, solace, hunger. As much as she claimed his hands were her favorite part of him, it was in his chest that she found a connection that he'd not yet been able to identify, perhaps never would be able.

A thumb brushed over his nipple before her hands darted away to touch, explore, investigate the nuances of his ribs, each one deserving of its own attention. The tips of two fingers found the sensitive spot hidden between two ribs, digging in lightly, causing his body to jerk, a laugh to be pried from his lips before a hand caught hers and moved it away with a soft warning, "Laura," he drawled. She looked up at him, feigning innocence, even as laughter danced across her eyes. Pulling her hand from his, her fingers moved back to a nipple, tracing its outline, before two fingers caught the tip between them and rolled it between them. His swift intake of breath spoke of his reaction and turned into a rumbling moan when her fingers exchanged places with her lips. As her mouth suckled and tongue flicked against him, a hand tangled in her hair, while hips writhed beneath her.

"Laura," he mumbled quietly. She looked up at him from under her lashes, still holding him in her mouth, her eyes promising what was to come.

Her mouth released him, then fluttered across his chest before bestowing the same attention his other side, drawing another call of her name, while a hand skimmed over her bottom, began to knead the flesh there. She shifted, to kneel between his legs, slipping away from the hand that toyed with her hair and massaged her scalp, then bent over and traced a path from chest to navel with her mouth and tongue. As the muscles clenched in his stomach, he let out a stuttering sigh. Two fingers delved into the top of his hip, making his hips buck and a hand to reach out and twine his fingers with hers.

"Laura," he intoned in another warning growl. She laughed deep in her throat.

"What?"

"You know what," he answered, looking down at her with a single brow raised. She grinned at him, then moved further back to graze her lips against the bare skin of his hips, while fingernails lightly glanced across the inside of his thigh. Easing her hand from his, she clasped the base of his erection in her hand, fingers opening and closing around it, while she nipped, lathed and suckled on the skin on a particularly sensitive area of his hip, wrenching a guttural moan from him. His hand flopped against the bed, then twisted a sheet in it. With a quirk of her lips she left the spot, only to return to him when her tongue ran up his aching length. He inhaled almost violently at the contact and when she swirled her tongue at the tip of him he sat up suddenly, two hands reaching under her arms to grasp her trying to pull her up to him. She slipped out of his grasp, a small frown of confusion forming between her eyes.

"Don't you like it?" She watched as he swiped a shaking hand across his lower face.

"It's not an… area… in which I've… ummm… indulged… often," he stammered. She gave him a curious look. Her hand reached out to stroke him, making his body tremor.

"Really? I'd have thought…. Why?" she asked, with tilted head. Her fingers opened and closed around him. His fingers clenched at the sheets as his hips rotated of their own accord. He gasped, when her thumb ran along the rim of the head.

"Can we… discuss… the why's," he gasped, "…later."

"Do want me not to…?" she persisted.

 _Do I not want your mouth on me, covering me? Are you insane?_

"Good God, yes," he forced out on a groan. Her lips lifted in a smile, as curiosity departed her eyes to be replaced with smoky desire.

"You have no idea how many times I've dreamt about doing this for you," she murmured before leaning back over him to trace a vein up the side of his throbbing length.

"Have…you… now?" he forced out between deep gulps of air, while her tongue moved up the other side of him.

"Mmmm," she hummed in answer, as her thumb circled his rim, "Often." She leaned over and nibbled along the sensitive side of his shaft playfully. "Haven't you ever thought about me doing this?"

Steele's entire body was taut with anticipation, yearning to feel her take him into her mouth. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Laura… Laura!... touching him, tasting him. His pulse raced, heart pounded, and any ability to think was long ago lost at the moment her tongue had traveled up his length. _Surely the woman doesn't expect me to carry on a conversation now,_ he thought. _While she's…_ The thought was lost when her tongue swirled around his head, the tip of her tongue toying with the slit.

"Haven't you?" she persisted. Truthfully, Laura well knew that his mind had turned to mush, his glazed eyes attesting to that fact. But she found it … amused her… to watch him try to string together a comprehensive thought.

"Haven't I…what?" he managed to get out, the thought slipping away when she blew against the dampened head. He groaned deep in his throat and pressed himself up on and elbow so a hand could lace in her hair.

"Thought about me doing this?" she answered, trying not to laugh. Her lips slipped over the head, and she sucked softly, flicking her tongue against it, while her nails scraped lightly along the underside of his balls. His entire body quaked in reaction. The arm supporting him gave out, and he sunk to his back, fingers losing her hair, yet his eyes never leaving her.

"Was… I … breathing?" he managed to gasp out. Lifting her mouth from him, she took him in her hand, opening and closing her fingers around him several times. His hips rose from the bed and she smiled, reveling in the fact that she could bring him this much pleasure.

"How often did you think about it?" she asked, before leaning over him again to nibble to taste. She was finding it increasingly difficult to think herself, as holding him under her hands and in her mouth, his reactions, were taking her own body to the edge as well.

"Lauraaaaaa…" he beseeched. "I can't think…" She slipped her mouth over him, taking nearly half of him inside, rending a swift "Oh, god" from his lips. As she moved over him, he tried to finish the sentence on a stuttering breath, "… when you're… doing… Oh, god… _that_." She released him from her mouth again, teeth nibbling the head, tongue circling the rim.

"I know," she laughed, her breath against him an erotic sensation in its own right and his body jolted in reaction to it. Her tongue stroked his length, before she took him back in her mouth, this time establishing a rhythm that would take him over the precipice. She watched as his hips stiffened and the muscles in his abdomen grew tight, then reached under his testicles to rub a thumb along the hard yet very sensitive area there. He forced himself back up on an elbow, touched her hair lightly.

"Laura…" he breathed.

She knew he was warning her that he was near, that she could back away if she wanted. Her hand rubbed the inside of his thigh, letting him know wordlessly that she was exactly where she wanted to be. She watched from under her lashes as he lay back and a look of pure bliss crossed his face as he shattered, his hips thrusting gently, uttering her name as he did. She kept him within her mouth, sucking lightly until he flinched from the overstimulation, only then releasing him. In that moment, he surged forward and grabbed her under the arms, dragging her up his body, then neatly flipped them, so he lay atop of her. His fingers toyed with the hair on either side of her face as his mouthed grazed lightly against her lips before deepening the kiss, needing to taste himself on her, to taste her through himself. He dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing in her scent, as her hands feathered across his back until he fully relaxed against her. Lifting his head, his lips sought hers anew as the fingers tips of both hands stroked lightly against her cheeks.

Steele felt Laura quiver underneath him. Opening his eyes as their lips still clung to each other, he saw from the look on her face that without so much as a touch, she was near already. The fact that the mere act of bringing him incredible pleasure could set her body aflame, stole his breath. _What will it be like when I make you mine?_ he wondered, not for the first time. His lips left hers, traveling along her neck, down her chest, stopping for a taste of a delectable breast, before continuing in a path down her abdomen. While he'd had every intention of promptly returning the favor, spying those glorious legs of hers wrapped in that sensual silk hosiery that sent his nerves afire with only a look and had him reconsidering.

 _An appetizer before the main course, perhaps?_ he wondered. Laura, who had been watching each touch of his lips, each sweep of his hands along her body, saw his indecision and laughed quietly, drawing his eyes. With a lift of his brows at her in acknowledgment that she'd noticed where his attention had wandered, he decided not to resist the powerful lure. _Appetizer it is._

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he reached for a leg, and ran both hands down its length before his fingers caught the edge of the stocking and began rolling it down, his lips traveling along each newly bared piece of skin. He paused to suckle the inside of a knee, and, when the stocking was fully removed and Laura was softly sighing, he nibbled a toe before turning to the other leg and giving it the same attention. The only thought Laura was able to solidify in her mind was that if she'd known of his fetish for stockings, she would have certainly worn them to the office frequently. A little payback, if you will, for how often he'd left the buttons of his shirt open once he'd realized the view would set off a myriad of interesting reactions in her body.

Any further ability to think left her when he ran his hand up the outside of her leg, then with a gentle nudge of his fingers, spread her open to himself and his mouth descended on her. She inhaled sharply when his tongue found the sensitive nub at her apex, swirling around it then flicking. She hummed, deep in her throat when he moved lower and his tongue pressed into her sheath for a taste of her essence. But it was when his tongue returned to the swollen nub and a finger slipped inside her that she cried out, clamping her thighs against his head. The fingers of his free hand nudged her legs back apart as she writhed beneath him and hips softly, slowly bucked in time to his rhythm. Her hand searched for and found the hand on the arm on which he leaned and their fingers threaded together as she shattered, calling out his name again. A shimmer crossed his body in response to the fact that it was his first name that she chose to call as she took flight then slowly drifted back down.

Only when her body jerked convulsively at his touch, did he shift to lay the length of his body atop hers, leaning his forehead against hers as his fingers laced through her hair.

"Laura," he whispered. One arm found his back and a hand began to rub, while the other hand tangled in his hair before pressing his head downwards, until it lay against her shoulder, his face tucked into her neck where he could breathe in her comforting scent of honeysuckle and fresh grass. They lay that way for long minutes, neither speaking, content to bask in one another's presence as they relived the time that they had just shared. It was Laura who first gathered her senses together enough to speak.

"Join me in a hot bath?" she asked. Steele lifted his head, and pressed his lips against hers several times before answering her with a grin.

"Any chance I get." She nudged at his shoulders and he pulled himself up and off of her.

"Grab the champagne and glasses then, while I get it started." Sliding of out the bed, she strolled across the bedroom. He watched the graceful sway of her hips as she walked away, and once more thanked the stars above that not only was she as comfortable in her own nudity as he, but that she matched his ardor in the bedroom as he'd always imagined she would.

Grabbing the champagne and glasses, he followed behind her, remembering, with a quirk of his brow, their time spent in a hot tub in Vail. The thought was enough to bring his body back to life, and he was suddenly looking forward to what mischief he could cause when surrounded with hot water and Laura.

* * *

Laura, wearing Steele's pajama top, lounged propped up on pillows at the head of the bed, while Steele, clad only in the matching bottoms, sat close to the end of the bed with her foot in his hands, working out the knots brought about by standing attendance at Bernice's wedding, followed by dancing, then shopping, then yet more dancing later in the evening. While certainly more than used to wearing heels all day and doing everything from leg work to chasing suspects in them, the spiky stilettos she'd worn through all those events put more pressure than normal upon her arches. She'd not even realized how much until the journey to the bathroom when the tendons had throbbed.

Dipping a strawberry in the now lukewarm chocolate, she leaned forward and held it out while Steele took a bite, a grin spreading across his face, then watched as she dipped the remaining portion of the strawberry into the chocolate again and popped it into her own mouth. Tilting her head, she considered him for a moment. _If I ask, will he answer me or avoid the question?_ she wondered. _My curiosity is killing me._ With a shrug, she decided to test the waters. The worst thing that could happen was he would refuse to weigh in.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmmm," he assented wordlessly. Laying her foot on the bed, he picked up the other one, noting her grimace at the first press of his fingers.

"Why?" she left it simply at that, knowing he'd understand where her mind had wandered. He glanced at her, then returned his attention to her foot.

"Uhhh, Laura, there's not a person I know of who doesn't have boundaries and proclivities when it comes to sex."

"What do you mean?" He turned to look at her again, considering her carefully.

"Well," he mulled. "For instance… on the streets of Brixton there were many girls who sold themselves, if you will, in order to put food on their stomachs, or in hopes of finding a warm place to kip at night. But even then there were boundaries. Some refusing to kiss a customer, but willing to perform any other act, while others had no issue with kissing but would only have intercourse and nothing else. They'd established their boundaries of what was personal and what was business."

"So you're saying it's a personal boundary for you? I guess I don't understand. What is sex if not personal?"

"Ahhh, you can't confuse the fact that just because there are people involved that something is personal, just as one can't confuse sex with intimacy."

"I'm afraid you've lost me."

Steele blew out a puff of air, then pursed his lips as he tried to find a way to explain what he meant to Laura.

"Do you remember the story you told me in Vail? While we were in the screening room?"

"Of course."

"Were there…uh… things… you'd have gladly done with Wilson but would have been unwilling to do with the professor or… what was his name?"

"Marty Kloppman," she supplied. She considered his question, then nodded her head. "Yes, there are things I would have done with Wilson but not with either of them. But Wilson and I were together a long time, living together even…"

"There was an intimacy between the two of you that didn't exist between you and the professor, Kloppman. Wouldn't you say?"

"Of course."

"Alright," he nodded. She pursed her lips at him, unsure still of where he was headed. "When you and Wilson were together, if he'd have had sex with another woman, would it have bothered you?"

" _Of course_ it would have. We were living together, committed to one another."

"Had your professor had sex with someone else, would that have bothered you?" He grinned when Laura actually snorted at the thought.

"No, I'm sure he was. He was… convenient… nothing more. But I told you that."

"Mmmm," he acknowledged. "You did." Patting her on the bottom of her foot, he laid it down on the bed, then scooted up to recline against the backboard next to her. "So, would I be wrong if I were to say that sex between yourself and Wilson was personal, whereas what was between you and the professor was nothing more than a few quick shags to, um, appease some biological urges?"

"No," she shrugged. "I would say that would be a fairly accurate assessment."

"So sex is not always personal is it, then? Sometimes it's nothing more than two people assuaging biology, looking for a little relief, or it is nothing more than an amusing shag, a way to pass time."

"I see your point," Laura said with a nod of her head. She glanced over at him as she began to realize where he was leading her. "Are you saying that oral sex is not a normal part of your, uh… repertoire… because it's too personal?"

"In a manner of speaking." He reached between them, and picked up her hand, threading his fingers with hers, then held their hands up. "I cannot recall a single woman that I've done this with, let alone on a regular basis as I do you. It implies a level of intimacy, a desire to be close, that I've not only not felt but also did not wish to convey."

"Not even with Anna?" The words slipped out before she'd measured them. She cringed and turned her head away from him, feeling as if she'd crossed an unspoken boundary between them, hating that it might have been born of a lingering jealousy of the woman that had taken him from her, at least in mind. "Don't answer that. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." Steele smiled and shook his head in amusement. He gave her hand a soft squeeze then a little tug. She turned back to face him at the silent request.

"You speak freely of Wilson with me, why would you expect less than the same from me where Anna is concerned?"

"Anna's…. complicated," she answered, unsure how to explain it.

"Because I, as you put it, shut you out when she first appeared in my life again whereas you'd not done the same to me when Wilson appeared in yours?"

Freeing her hand from his, Laura crawled across his body, then nudged him over. Steele slid to recline against the pillows she'd just vacated and waited until she settled her head in his lap, her body stretched across the width of the bed. This was the position in which they'd had some of their most intimate conversations, a familiar one, a comfortable one. Picking his hand back up in hers, she began drawing pretty patterns in his palm and over his fingers.

Blue eyes followed the movement of her fingers in the ensuing silence as she considered his words. Involuntarily, from time-to-time his fingers would contract when she would hit a particularly sensitive spot. In another context her ministrations could have been considered a form of foreplay, her light touch sensual. But in this context he wasn't sure how to describe her actions other than _nice. Keeping us close, linked._ He would gladly wile away an entire afternoon doing nothing more than this.

"I guess that's as good a way to put it as any," she finally answered in acknowledgment to his question, drawing his eyes back to her face.

"Mmmm," he hummed, picking up a strand of her hair and fingering it. "And saying Anna is complicated is as good of a way to put it as any, as well, although not in the way that you mean."

"You've lost me again."

"It's true, that I fancied myself…" he stumbled "…close to her. But there was never a true intimacy between her and me, other than what she wished me to believe. But believe it I did. So yes, with Anna. But what she and I had was never like what we share. Holding hands? This? Our weekends together?" He shook his hand. "She and I never shared anything like this. None of it. This, with you, is an intimacy I never imagined I wanted, let alone would find." She nodded, concentrating on his hand.

"So, what I did for you tonight…implies intimacy in your mind?" He lifted his brows at her, giving a careless shrug of his shoulders.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Requires a degree of trust, as well, on behalf of both parties… that each will… uh… shall we say … take a great deal of care with the other. I've not implied a trust that does not exist with my… assignations… and have been careful not to imply an intimacy I neither felt nor was looking for. Not through endearments, promises some perhaps hoped for, or acts."

"And with me?" she asked, focusing fully on his hand. Steele gave a small chuckle, his fingers moving to brush her hair away from her face before stroking the side of her face with the back of them.

"I think we're both well aware that I trust you." A dimple flashed and she nodded, her attention still riveted on his hand. "As for intimacy? Ahhh, Laura, what is our time together if not about intimacy? Presence, closeness. It's nearly everything I've wanted for us for longer than I can seem to recall."

"Nearly? Beyond the obvious, is there something else you want?"

"Mmmm."

"What's that?" she cocked her head to look up at him. His eyes held steady with hers when he answered, wanting to make sure she understood how serious he was in this.

"More time, for one." Creases appeared between her brows, her eyes searching his now.

"We're already together at work all week, spend our weekends together."

"Mmmmmm. Yet I want more." Laura's mouth fell open in surprise. Steele laughed, and touched a single finger under her chin to lift it and close her mouth. "Now, whilst you masticate that thought, it's my turn. If not a hedonist, a seeker of the fairy tale or one of the jaded, what does that leave?" he asked, repeating the question that he'd asked her earlier at the wedding, before they'd been interrupted. He watched as Laura's agile mind switched gears, setting aside the old conversation for the new.

"Hmmmmm. The realist, I suppose." She answered, recapturing his hand in hers and resumed tracing her fingers across it.

"Ahhhh, I see. And the realist, what are they seeking and how do they find it?"

"Realists don't seek. They've accepted that the fairy tale is a myth, but they don't resent it or still secretly hope to overcome it, unlike the jaded. They're not out there actively casting their line hoping to land a big fish, or whiling away their evenings hoping to find their Prince Charming or Cinderella. For some, a fling here or there to keep their bodies sated, but by no means hedonists. They know there are people out there that have beaten the odds, that have found that person who completes their vision in some way. Like Frances and Donald, completing one another's visions of the life they wanted. But the realist recognizes the odds of finding that person are long and they would be much better off betting on themselves. They pursue other dreams, many equally as fulfilling in their own way."

"The Agency," with a brush of fingertips against her cheek, he smiled down at her.

"Yes," she nodded, looking up at him and returning his smile.

"If not looking, where then did Laura Holt find the Milton's and Maxwell's of her life?"

"Milton and I _never_ dated," Laura laughed.

"Is that so… Binky?" he asked with an arched brow, drawing another laugh from her.

"Still curious about that are you?"

"I _might_ admit to having thought about it a time or two or fifty." They shared a laugh together, Laura's tethering off into a yawn. Steele nudged her head with the thigh laying underneath it. Linking her fingers with the hand she'd been toying with, she pulled herself into a sitting position then after he'd pulled a pillow from behind his head and shifted lower on the bed, folded herself into his waiting arm. She nestled herself into side and shoulder as he turned out the light, the room swathed in the soft lights from the city outside the bedroom window. "So, if the realist is not… how did you put it … on the prowl in singles bars and other like venues, where are they seeking their connections?"

"They aren't. Connections are a matter of chance. An introduction by a friend. A innocuous meeting at some event where mutual interest is discovered. A business connection that takes a quirky turn." He felt her shrug against him with another yawn. "That is how I met Maxwell. Barbara and her husband were consulting with him on some investments they were interested in. Invited him to one of their dinner parties where I happened to be in attendance. He was nice. Smart. Good sense of humor. Great kisser." She laughed to herself when Steele shifted uncomfortably underneath her at the last words. "We went out a few times. Then we didn't."

"No spark?" He tried to keep his voice neutral although an irrational flame of jealousy had ignited at the thought of her in Maxwell's arms kissing, doing… other things. A hand moved to stroke her shoulder, her arm. A reminder, almost, that when Maxwell had made a play for her only a couple short months before, she had unequivocally chosen him with two simple words, 'I'm committed.'

"No, there were plenty of sparks. It took me a few dates to realize he wanted more than I was willing to give."

"Ah, tried to entice you to turn that proverbial corner too soon eh?" he asked a bit smugly, a tone she caught.

"Oh, sex was never the issue. Not with him or others guys I dated." She'd tried to intentionally tweak him, and if the tension in his body and sudden cessation of movement by his hand was any indication, had succeeded. This time she did chuckle at the response. Steele bent his head to look at her. She blithely ignored him, but playfully ruffed his chest hair with her fingers. "No, he still believed in the fairy tale, and I wasn't looking for a knight in shining armor."

"Wanted to ride to your rescue, did he?" On another yawn, she snugged herself a little tighter to him, seeking the warmth of his body while rubbing her head against his chest in what could pass as a no.

"Nothing so prosaic. It was little things. When we'd go running he'd deliberately slow his pace. One weekend, a group of friends gathered to play ball. He was pitching for the opposing team. Decent pitcher too. He threw me soft." A shoulder shrugged against his body.

"Poor bloke didn't realize you wanted someone who would outpace you and demand you to keep up, eh?"

"That's a fair summary." The hand that had been rubbing his side, sputtered and slowed. "Binky Jones," she said softly.

"Binky Jones?"

"Played shortstop for the Brooklyn Robins for ten games. That was the entirety of his professional career. When we are at Stanford every once in a while the guys would let me get out there on the field, toss the ball around for some fun. Milton said I was Binky Jones, because my baseball career would never last more than ten games."

"Did it?"

"It was the seventies… I was a girl… Never made it to ten..." her hand stilled and on her soft sigh, Steele knew she'd given into sleep.

Tightening his arms about Laura and tucking his chin down to lay against the top of her head, Steele settled in not to sleep but to let his mind wander. How, exactly, does one get a stubbornly independent woman like Laura Holt, who'd managed to keep him at bay for four years, to acknowledge that she, as much as he, needed more?

(Continued)


	5. Chapter 5

(Conclusion)

Laura woke shortly after dawn, typical of her no matter what time she went to sleep the night before – well, except after a night of a little too much drinking, that is. That was alright with her though. She loved the serenity of early mornings. There was no where she had to be immediately, and would have already determined the course of her day the night before. A cup of coffee, some time with her thoughts or the most recent novel she was reading, every once a while a turn at the barre were each a perfect way to start the day. This morning, she simply wanted to appreciate the weekend that now lay behind them, while anticipating the day ahead. Breakfast with Murphy, Bernice, Sherry and Jason. The _42_ _nd_ _Street_ matinee that afternoon. Dinner with Steele at a location he was keeping closely under wraps. Then tonight, home. Her own things, her own bed. As much as she'd enjoyed her time in New York, at the end of the day she was a homebody.

She took a moment to appreciate the man sleeping next to her, although wrapped around her would be a more apt description. They fell asleep each night they spent together in the same manner: her wrapped around him. Steele on his back, she tucked into his side, head on that place between shoulder and chest that seemed made for her specifically, arm wrapped around so her fingers could touch his side, and a leg slung over his. Most mornings when they woke, she found him spooned against her back, a hand cupping her breast, the other hand lying on her hip, with one of his legs wedged between hers. But, every once in a while she would wake and find them as she had this morning: both on their sides, facing one another, her head using one of his arms as a pillow, that arm wrapped around her and his hand resting on her ribs, legs tangled, one of her hands resting flat against his chest, and her other hand entwined with his. Certainly she could not complain about the view this position afforded her, as she was greeted with an eyeful of delicious chest when she'd woken. Before she gave into the temptation to thoroughly explore that chest, she carefully extracted various limbs and appendages from his and wriggled around until her back was facing his chest. She gave a small shake of her head and her lips twitched with an amused grin when in his sleep his arms found her and drew her snug against his body again.

In the thousand fantasies she'd had about him – she half-grimaced when she realized that number was substantially more if you counted the dreams she'd had at night – never, not once, had she imagined this about him. No, in this she'd expected him to be like Wilson. Wilson who'd made it clear the first time they'd made love, shared a bed: your side, my side, and never the twain shall meet. Oh, she hadn't minded, not really. Normally she preferred to stretch out, to have plenty of room to move throughout the night. Sure, it would have been nice to snuggle in the aftermath once in a while, but, all-in-all she'd been fine with it.

But her Mr. Steele? _No, Remington,_ she reminded herself, still trying to get used to the name rolling off her tongue. She'd never pictured him as a cuddler. He, the connoisseur of women, the aficionado of the one-night stand, the man who had always avoided commitment at all costs, who, by his own admission, never alluded to an interest in more by word or act… a cuddler. Yet, now that she thought about it she was surprised that she was, well, surprised. After all, this was the same man that found a myriad of reasons to touch her throughout the day. Why, in, bed, would that be any different? With a silent chuckle, she carefully extracted herself from his arms and slid out of the bed. Nicking his robe from the chair it was draped over, she wrapped herself in it as she moved with cat-like silence into the living room, closing the bedroom door quietly behind her.

A quick phone call to room service saw coffee and tea on the way up to the room and a glance at the clock on the desk showed they had an hour or so before she'd need to awaken Steele so they could get ready to meet everyone else for a final breakfast before they went their separate ways. Flipping on the gas fireplace, she settled herself into a nearby chair, tucking her legs up underneath her.

Murphy married, a father. To twins at that. Bernice a mother, now married. The corners of her mouth lifted and she laughed quietly. Both of their lives had changed so much in the three years since they'd left the Agency. Bernice, the jaded, still chasing after the fairy tale had finally found it. Murphy, the traditionalist who had never stopped believing in the fairy tale had captured it. Their lives had moved at warp speed towards the future after they'd walked out the Agency's doors while hers?

A change of address. Necessitated by her house being blown up, not from a desire for change. The Agency had grown in both stature and revenue by leaps and bounds. But other than that? She was certainly not married or a mother. Truthfully she didn't know for certain if she wanted either of those things, so it was neither of those things that were bothering her. It was far more simple than that, this thing that had been nagging at her most of the weekend. It was that her life had not moved ahead at warp speed during those same years. If anything, it had remained stagnant. By choice. Her choice. Readjusting herself in the chair, she pulled her legs up against her body, and rested her chin on them.

She could pinpoint in her head the precise moment that she'd frozen the two of them in place and time. It had been the second that Murphy and Bernice had left the agency, taking their net of safety with them. While they'd been there, there had been a certain security which had allowed her to conduct a flirtation with Steele, to explore their attraction… to let him in. Had things moved from enticing to disastrous, Bernice and Murphy would have been there to pick up the pieces alongside her. To put her back together again. _Like Humpty Dumpty,_ she thought with a small, sardonic chuckle. _All the King's horse, all the King's men… But unlike Humpty Dumpty, Bernice and Murphy could have helped me put myself back together again and, at the very least, made certain the Agency didn't likewise crumble around all of us in the aftermath._

But after they'd left? She'd already been in too deep long before that, and, after, had found herself suddenly waiting for the precarious sandbar underneath her feet to shift dumping her in waters so treacherous they might drown her. There were days that she'd step off the sandbar and find herself floating in a sea of tranquility, the gentle lap of the water surrounding her body. On those days she sank into those tantalizing kisses of his, was relaxed enough to cuddle on the couch with him while watching a movie, would openly share her more intimate thoughts and memories with him. Then there were the days that she felt as though the sandbar suddenly gave way, dumping her into a churning sea that left her flailing in storm roughened waters that threatened to pull her under. Millicent. Anna. His return to his deceptions in Cannes. On those days, she'd extend her boundaries. It reminded her of the buoys that would be put out by lifeguards indicating where it was safe to swim and where it was not. Eventually she'd surrounded herself with buoys and there was, in her mind, no place safe left to swim. Everything represented a risk that she was terrified to take.

It was not until he'd left for London that she'd realized that the shifting of the sandbar was never the real danger. The real danger lay in the sea around her suddenly drying up, becoming a barren desert of nothingness as she stood safely on the cropping of sand underneath her feet. Alone. Without him. No danger of drowning then, but no hope of the gentle lap of the water soothing her body or her heart either, for it was gone.

It was only then that she'd realized her analogy had been wrong from the start. She'd foolishly envisioned herself standing on a sandbar, which by its very nature was unstable. What she should have been doing was picturing herself standing on the shore. From there she could dip her toes into the water, and once she felt comfortable with the water lapping at them, could have moved a little further ahead, until the water swirled around her knees. And so on and so on, until at last she swam freely in the water, confident in her ability to navigate it with ease while it surrounded her in its intoxicating presence. That's what it had been like since London. First the toes, then the knees, eventually the hips then the waist. The question that swam through her mind right now was: _Am I ready to move ahead to chest deep, where my footing in the sand beneath me is equally as much under my own control as the occasional wave that comes along?_

Laura lifted her head at the gentle rap on the door of the suite. After signing the check, she poured herself a cup of coffee, then set it down to wrap herself in her coat. Cup in hand again, she made her way out onto the balcony, curling up on a chaise lounge there and cocooning herself in her coat to ward off the chill of a late winter morning. Taking a sip of her coffee, she stared out at the city in front of her, noting that the streets below were still quiet at this early morning hour, only an occasional horn heard.

 _He wants more time. So do I._ She closed her eyes while she allowed her admission to sink in. _Are we ready for more? We've been doing well enough, despite some bumps in the road, a couple of missteps. Would another night or two…"_

"Laura…"

Her thoughts were interrupted by Steele calling for her from somewhere inside. Unraveling herself from her coat, she stood and walked back towards the suite to meet up with Steele at the doorway. He looked at her askance, before lacing a hand around behind her back and scooting her inside.

"You've seemed to have developed a habit of late of trying to catch your death of cold, Laura," he lightly admonished. Taking a hand in his he began to warm it in between his palms.

"I'm fine," she laughed, removing her hand from his. "Hold this for a second, if you don't mind." Steele held her coffee cup as she peeled off her coat and laid it across the back of a nearby chair. Taking her cup back she moved to the room service cart to top it off as well as fix him a cup of tea. His eyes ran up and down her body, tongue flicking against his lips, before he smiled bemusedly.

"The mystery of where my robe got off to is solved, I see." Looking down, she flashed a dimple at him before handing him his cup of tea. With a light touch to the small of her back, they walked over to the couch where they each settled into a corner.

"It appears I have picked up on your light-handedness across the years. I didn't expect you to be up so soon. Sorry," she shrugged off-handedly.

"Mmmm," he hummed with a nod as he took sip of his tea. "You never need to apologize for nicking my clothing. I find the sight of you in them remarkably… appealing." Laura's teeth caught her lower lip as warmth infused her, oddly pleased with the notion.

"You do?" His eyes roamed her body again, the glint in them a curious mix of tenderness, hunger and possessiveness.

"Do you have to ask?" She watched his eyes, the look in them taking her from merely warm to simmering. She felt a flush spread up her neck to her face, drawing a soft, pleased laugh from him. "So, what precisely is on our agenda for this morning, Miss Holt?"

"After breakfast? Nothing whatsoever until the show this afternoon. Why, do you have something on your mind?"

"Perhaps. You know what they say. When in Rome…"

"Need I point out that we're in New York, not Rome?"

"Ahh, Laura, always focused on the most minute of details," he teased. "Alright then, shall we say there are a few sites of the city we should visit before departing?" She looked at him with an assessing eye.

"Why do I have an overwhelming urge to ask what you're up to?" With a smile he took a final swig of his tea, then after setting his cup on the coffee table, stood and held out a hand to her. Setting her own cup aside, she took his hand then once standing looped her arms around his neck.

"Just trying for a little romance, Laura," he assured her, as he swayed her in his arms. "Now, how 'bout a proper good morning, eh?" Tipping her head up, her fingers pressed against the back of his neck, although he needn't be given a hint. His lips skimmed over hers before settling briefly then departing. He smacked his lips and grinned down at her. "Mmmm, yes, that'll do. Perhaps we should get ready, before you make us late for breakfast."

"I'm not always late," Laura sputtered, releasing him and walking in front of him towards the bedroom.

"Professionally, one could set their watch by you. That's true enough. Elsewise, most days you give a whole new meaning to the term fashionably late." He handed her into the bathroom in front of him, neither giving a thought to sharing the space while they prepared for the day.

After years of living in one another's pockets they were comfortable with one another's morning routines, and the Four Seasons' large bathroom with double sinks certainly did not lack for room. He shaved while she pulled her hair back in a French braid and carefully, but efficiently applied a light layer of makeup. As he brushed his teeth, he watched in the mirror while she popped open a little plastic case and swallowed a pill dry. Her eyes caught his in the mirror and she tilted the case towards him, then watched as his eyes darkened. Setting his toothbrush on the counter, he took a step towards her and took her face in both of his hands and gave her a ravenous kiss. When he pulled away she stumbled slightly, off balance from both the suddenness and intensity of the kiss. He held on to her arms until she found her feet. A smile played on both of their lips, recognizing the significance of the moment. With a touch of his lips against hers, he turned to right his hair.

"What should I wear for these mysterious plans of yours," she called over her shoulder. He mulled her question over.

"Casual, comfortable. Plan on walking a bit."

In the bedroom standing before the closet, Laura pursed her lips wondering what, precisely, he had on his agenda. With a shrug of her shoulders, she pulled her khaki jumpsuit from the closet, a dark belt and a pair of low heeled boots from the closet. It wasn't as though she had many options and she only brought a single casual outfit along with her for the trip, unsure of what the attire would be for Bernice's bachelorette party. Steele paused for a moment to admire the pert little bum wriggling into the outfit, before plucking a pair of khaki colored chinos, a khaki, grey and white checked shirt and his own boots out of the closet. Now it was her turn to let her eyes peruse his lean form as he dressed. Catching her at it, he grinned.

"Keep that up, Laura, and we'll most assuredly be late for breakfast," he warned playfully. Leaving the casual button up untucked, he began to pull on his boots then paused when she spoke.

"Promises, promises, Remington," she teased. The easy use of his first name coupled with her flirtatious remark, caused an immediate reaction. In two quick steps, he grabbed her by the waist, spun and dropped them both to the bed, she under him. As his mouth lowered to hers, in a neat little move of her own she slinked out from underneath him in time for his lips to meet mattress. Turning his head, he gave her a disgruntled look as she stood back up and laughed.

"Uh-uh, Mr. Steele," she wagged a finger at him. "I'm not going to be blamed for us being late." Steele pushed himself up from the bed into a sitting position and reached for his boots again.

"I'm sure you'll still manage to be exactly that, Miss Holt," he predicted.

"No way. I'm just about ready," she disagreed.

Thirty minutes later, which would place them twenty minutes late at the restaurant, Laura was satisfied everything was in its place and they headed out the door of their suite, a smirk on Steele's face being met with a warning look by her.

"Don't say it," she cautioned him.

"Of course not," he responded, a look of faux innocence upon his face. "I am far too much a gentleman to point out that we're going to be late…again."

"I think you just did," she noted dryly.

"No, not, not at all. Just pointing out that I wouldn't dare to point it out," he argued.

"Let me point out that by pointing out that you wouldn't point it out…"

The door of the suite shut behind them.

"Bye, Murph." Laura gave her former partner a tight hug, then released him before allowing the hand that had been tugging at hers to pull her away. Bernice dragged her several steps from the rest of group, as Laura looked back helplessly at Steele. He'd, in essence, been abandoned to deal with Murphy on his own.

"Look, Laura, I meant what I said Friday night," Bernice told her in an undertone. " _Go for it._ That man's not going anywhere." She glanced at Steele surreptitiously, running her eyes over him from head-to-toe. "And let's face it. Like a good wine, he's only gotten better with age."

"Oh, I have every intention of going for it," Laura assured her. "And when I do, I have four years worth of 'itchiness' that I plan to make up for. He's not going to know what hit him."

"It's about time!" Bernice winked. "Don't forget, Laura, I expect _details_." With a quick hug, Bernice scurried to join her husband in the taxi. As the taxi pulled away, Bernice leaned her head out the window and yelled a final reminder, "Details Laura!" Laura laughed and waved, then turned and joined Steele. When she arrived at his side, he reached down and linked his fingers through hers.

"Travel well, Michaels," Steele told him with the shake of a hand, before bussing Sherry on the cheek. "Always lovely to see you Sherry."

Steele and Laura watched as Murphy and Sherry loaded themselves in the taxi waiting for them, then sped away. Laura turned to face Steele, taking his other hand in hers as well.

"So, what's our first stop?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"Anticipation…" he told her, his lips brushing hers, "… only heightens…" his lips skimmed the length of her neck "… any experience." He handed her into the waiting limo. Once inside she turned to him.

"You know I'm not a big fan of surprises, Mr. Steele," she reminded him with a small frown. "They often have a way of turning sideways on you." He only hummed what could pass as tacit agreement. "Seems to me the last time you tried to surprise me with a romantic gesture on a trip, we ended up with half of the San Francisco Police Department trying to kill us." That caught his attention.

"I seem to recall a certain young woman telling me that particular… err… gesture… was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her," he reminded her

"Romantic though it may have been, those were still bullets being fired at us. What's it to be this time? The NYPD or the mob?" she asked, only half-kidding.

"Look, Laura, will you just relax," he exhaled in frustration. "No reason to work yourself into a dither over what is meant to be a pleasant day." Laura sat up, back ramrod straight, and placed several inches between she and Steele.

"Work myself into a dither?!" she demanded, clearly affronted. With a swipe at his hair, he turned to face her, holding up his hands to her.

"I'm sorry, Laura, I'm sorry. That was out of line" He took a deep breath, and reached for her hand, voice softening. "Can you please just trust, for a moment, that disaster will not befall us and that perhaps, just perhaps, things will work out as planned? Eh?" Laura's eyes darted to and from him several times, before her hand turned over in his and she let out a long held breath.

"I can do that. _But_ if bullets fly, be ready for an I told you so." Steele threw back his head and laughed, Laura joining along shortly after.

"So noted, Miss Holt, so noted." The limo slowed and came to a halt. At the driver's tap on the privacy glass, Steele looked out the window. "Our first destination awaits." He turned to open the door, then thought twice about it. Turning to her he gave her hand another squeeze. "Remember, a little faith." With that he turned back to the door and swung it open, then gave her a hand out before reminding the driver to return for them in 45 minutes.

Laura stood on the sidewalk staring with dismay at the stores around her. _Surely, he doesn't think the idea of showing me a good time is having me tag along while he adds to his already extensive wardrobe? Tit-for-tat? He accompanied me yesterday, so today I return the favor?_ It took considerable will power not to audibly groan. Pasting on a smile she turned to face him. He saw through her in an instant, and chuckled lightly.

"Shall we?" he asked, indicating they should cross Fifth Avenue, thankfully not very congested with traffic yet.

They jogged across the street, then with a hand on the small of her back directed her to a storefront. Laura glanced up at the sign, puzzled.

"Do you need a new watch?" she asked. He appeared baffled for a moment, then laughed again.

"Not at all. Come along," he encouraged as he held open the door of Tiffany & Co.'s for her.

Strolling around the glass cases, he finally settled upon one. When a sales woman approached he pointed to a pair of art deco, antiqued gold earrings that were nearly bronze in color with a dark garnet tear drop encased within the intricate design of the metal. The saleswoman carefully assessed the couple in front of her and deemed them trustworthy, then removed the pair of earrings from the case and presented them on the counter in front of them. Laura looked dubiously from the earrings to him.

The gesture, frankly, baffled her. Neither of them were prone to giving one another extravagant gifts. Thoughtful gestures here and there, certainly. Her kitchen had been outfitted with pots and pans and 'proper' stemware by Steele across the years, after he'd proclaimed her careless selections at the local discount store 'abominable' and 'truly a travesty.' She'd certainly added to his movie collection and his library of tomes on classic movies over the years. But only once in her memory could she recall him presenting her with a gift that was less than a practicality: the necklace with the heart shaped pendant that she wore only on special occasions. Otherwise, when he'd gone out of his way to 'do something for her' in the past, there had been an angle involved. Remembering this, she looked at him suspiciously.

"An apology for something you've done or about to do?" she asked. He simply shook his head in amusement at her.

"'You can always tell what kind of a person a man thinks you are by the earrings he gives you.'" He watched and saw the moment it clicked in Laura's mind.

" _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ , Audrey Hepburn, George Peppard, Jurow-Shephard, 1961." Her amber eyes twinkled up at him when she realized he was paying homage to one of her favorite movies.

"Hmmm," he hummed in acknowledgement. "I thought these would go splendidly with the dress you bought for this evening, while also serving as a small keepsake of our time here in New York."

Bending over to look in a mirror, she held one of the earrings up to her lobe. As usual, his taste was impeccable when it came to such matters and the earrings would serve not only as the perfect companions to her dress that evening, but were also practical enough for her to wear at other times as well. Straightening she brushed her lips against his cheek.

"Thank you," she told him softly.

"You're quite welcome, Ms. Golightly," he told her with a smile and a nod.

Handing off his credit card to the saleswoman, he and Laura wandered nearby display cases. He was not surprised that she never expressed interest in the dazzling array of diamond jewelry on display, but was instead drawn towards the greens and reds of emeralds and rubies. When they perused a case containing watches, he pointed to a watch that was similar to the one he'd intended to buy her for Christmas that year, a gesture that had been prevented after Dancer and gang had taken them hostage. As he began to raise his hand to call the saleswoman back over, Laura placed her hand over his and pressed it down with a shake of her head. Purchase made, they left the store in time to see the limo swing around the corner, the driver undoubtedly circling the block while waiting for his clients to appear. Handing her off into the limo once more, the limo accelerated towards their next destination.

"I guess it would be useless to ask where we're off to next," Laura asked, brow raised.

"I might be swayed to give you a hint," he replied with a waggle of his brows. A dimple flashed and Laura turned in to him, raising her lips to his, stopping a hairsbreadth before contact.

"However will I do that?" she teased, her eyes dancing with merriment. A splayed hand running up her neck and across her cheek into the hair on the side of her head, turned the moment more serious.

"'Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time'," he whispered against her lips. She leaned into his lips, allowed herself to get lost in a kiss where lips explored and tongues glanced, retreated and returned to touch once more. When they moved apart, sultry amber eyes met steamy blue ones. Drawn to him, she laid her lips against his neck, then answered him in a soft breath.

"Ingrid Bergman to Humprhey Bogart, _Casablanca,_ Warner Bros., 1942." He hummed in acknowledgment as his hand cupped the back of her head, while he rested his own against the back of the seat as her lips moved in small increments up his neck. When her lips reached that spot under his ear that drove him mad, he nudged her away drawing a laugh from her.

" _That_ won't do either of us a bit of good at the moment," he reminded her. Sitting back against the seat, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Two movie references within an hour, Mr. Steele? You're outdoing even yourself."

"May well go for the trifecta then, eh? It's 'the closest thing to heaven in this city.'"

"Is that my hint or another movie reference?"

"Yes, on both parts." Laura mulled the sentence over, the turned her head and grinned at him.

"Not even a challenge, Mr. Steele. We've only watched it a dozen times. _An Affair to Remember_ , Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr, Twentieth Century Fox, 1957. And we're going to the Empire State Building."

"You're getting quite good at this, Laura," he praised only to be met by a roll of her eyes.

"Quotes from three movies that we watch _all the time_? If I can't get those correct, I'll never learn to speak your language," she laughed.

"Speak my language? What a novel way of describing the use of references to movies when they have a bearing on a case at hand." She rolled her eyes.

"Or no bearing whatsoever," she laughed.

"Why Laura, you wound me." He held his hand to his chest to emphasize his words.

"Mmmm, mortally, I'm sure," she laughed again, as the car pulled to a halt, a tap on the window again signaling their arrival at their latest destination.

They strolled the lobby of the Empire State Building, hand-in-hand for the better part of an hour, Steele entranced by the art deco architecture, most especially that of the ceiling panels gracing the ceiling of the three story entry way and the aluminum relief of the way the building originally stood without the peak upon its top. He explained to Laura in intricate detail the use of marble and limestone throughout the structure, how many pounds of steel were utilized to create it, how many bricks had been laid. Clearly she had discovered a new aspect of her Mr. Steele, in that his fascination for art deco extended well beyond furnishings and jewelry design. It was only when he exhausted his knowledge that they took and elevator to the 102nd floor.

They walked the perimeter of the observation deck with his hand at the small of her back. Once more, he played the enthusiastic tour guide pointing out New Jersey to the East, Connecticut to the Northeast and Pennsylvania to the South. When they looked out over Central Park he lamented his failure to include a carriage ride through the park on their tour of the city.

"Oh, to get you under a blanket again," he'd waggled his brows. She in turn took the conversation up a notch on a mischievous lift of her brow.

"Depending how long this tour of the city lasts, you might be able to get me back in the sheets before the show," she teased, then laughed as he blanched when his blood rushed southerly.

"Lauraaaaa, you have to stop doing that," he moaned, taking her in his arms anyway and kissing her voraciously until she too was sharing in the angst.

"No fair," she whispered against his lips when they drew apart.

"I know," he whispered back, before taking her lips under his again.

They left their tour of the Empire State Building with bodies on edge, with Steele thanking the stars above that it was coat weather, else they might never have been able to leave. On the forty-five minute ride to their next, and final, destination, they made the most of the privacy of the backseat of the limo. Lips fed on lips, mouths fed on bodies, fingers wandered, hands gave pleasure, leaving them tremoring in one another's arms then scrambling to right their clothes when once again that tap sounded. The blush that covered Laura from the root of her hair to the tip of her toes at her remembrance of a driver in front of them, had Steele exiting the limo in laughter.

His laughter ceased and the look in his eyes changed from the twinkle of laughter, to one of stunned pleasure when he caught Laura looking around them in awe.

"You brought me to Coney Island."

"Mmmm," he acknowledged wordlessly. Laura threw herself at him, body hitting body hard enough to draw a "Ooomph" from him, while he tried to stay on his feet. Fingers tangled in his hair as lips fluttered across his, before settling. With a playful nip of his bottom lip she pulled away.

"Thank you," she grinned up at him.

"Had I known this would be your reaction, I would have searched out every boardwalk in California and Mexico years ago," he chuckled.

"I'm sure you would have. Some secrets are best left just that. But now that we're here…."

They strolled the boardwalk, testing their hands at various carnie games, while Steele continually reminded her that the games were all rigged and how precisely that was done. Still, they'd had some moderate success, passing off the stuffed animals they'd taken away as prizes to children visiting the boardwalk with their families. He learned a new secret, so to speak, about Laura that lazy afternoon: she was addicted to boardwalk food. There wasn't a single stand that he could recall that she had not 'simply had to try some…" type of fare: A Nathan's hot dog here, a gyro there; fried ice cream at this place; and seasoned curly fries at that one.

By mutual agreement they decided to fritter away a little time with a walk along the pier. The serenity of the waves pounding against the shore, the call of the seagulls above, and the smell of the salt air provided a restive atmosphere after the loud and chaotic boardwalk. Laura plucked a chunk of cotton candy off of the cone held in her hand, and closed her eyes, smiling at the first taste. The treat always reminded of her childhood, of the happier times before her father had left. Like the circus, Atomic Man and parlaits, cotton candy held a special place in her heart because of the memories.

Pinching off another piece, she held it up to Steele. "Try some," she offered, holding the pink fluff in front of his mouth. His eyes glinted, and on a turn of a heel, gathered her in his arms before his hand guided the spun confection held in her hand towards her mouth. Her eyes sparkled at the suggestion, and with exaggerated slowness placed the treat in her mouth.

"Love to," he murmured, his lips covering hers, his tongue, without preamble, entering her mouth for a taste. He hummed low in his throat as he tasted her through the sugary treat that held a hint of strawberry. When his lips withdrew he smacked them together several times, before grinning at her, while swiping her hair back from her face. "Very tasty." Laura flashed her dimples at him before taking another bite of the treat.

They meandered down the pier in silence for a few minutes, pausing here and there to share cotton candy enriched kisses until the treat was gone. After the paper cone was disposed of in a nearby trashcan, they linked fingers and continued towards the end of the pier.

"So, is it your love of the food, then, that draws you to the Boardwalk? Or something more?" Laura shifted her eyes to look at him, the returned them to look at the water ahead. She knew by his overly casual tone that he suspected there was a story behind her fascination for the Boardwalk, had known since the moment they'd arrived. After all, why this destination in particular when there were so many other attractions in New York City? What she hadn't been able to put a finger on was how he knew. It was not as though they'd discussed it before. Reaching the end of the pier, she gave him another glance, before releasing his hand, and leaning on her elbows against the rail of the pier, looking out over the water in front of them sightlessly.

"You've seen how things are, between Mother and me." She gave a small shrug and watched in her peripheral vision as he mimicked her, leaning against the rail. "It's always been that way, at least as far back as I can remember. Always a disappointment. I didn't speak the way she wanted, dress the way she wanted, think the way she wanted…" Laura trailed off. Steele waited for her to continue, then hoping not to shut her down completely, gave her a small nudge.

"Too independent?" he speculated. Laura flashed a doleful smile.

"Too much of a tomboy, not enough of a lady. Even when I was five or six it was clear to me that I would forever be a disappointment to her. I wasn't Frances. Frances who loved frilly dresses and bows in her hair. Frances who was thrilled when she and Mother would spend an entire day baking. Frances who played with dolls, combing their hair, dressing and redressing them for hours while pretending to be the little mother." Softly she chuckled ruefully. "No, I was happier in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hair tossed back in a ponytail and out climbing a tree, riding bikes with boys on the block while Mother and Frances baked. I was too loud. Too outspoken. Too wild. An embarrassment in her eyes." Laura turned her head and looked down the beach, following a couple with their two children as they walked along the water's edge.

"You were a dancer. Surely that made her proud. Don't all mothers want a ballerina?" His voice was low, quiet. Laura cast him a look that said he should have known better.

"I danced, yes. But that as for me, and me alone. I had no interest in dancing in the recitals, once more letting her down. There were no pictures of Laura dressed in her pretty little tu-tu's and sequined leotards. When I was eight, she forced me to participate in a recital, determined to get those pictures, convinced that once I tried one I would be hooked."

"I'm guessing that wasn't the case?" Laura laughed softly in response.

"When I wasn't standing on the stage, with my arms crossed refusing to move, I was crying. It was a miserable experience for both of us. She gave up on me after that. She and Frances were connected at the hip from there forward, me the outsider. But I was okay with that for the most part because I had my father." Steele pushed himself away from the railing and stepped behind Laura. Laying an arm on either side of hers, he leaned into her, laying the side of his head against hers. "My father and baseball, Atomic Man, circuses and boardwalks."

"Spent a lot of time on them then, did you?"

"Uh-uh. Some time, but not a lot. Still enough to leave an impression though. The trips were never planned, at least as far as I know. He'd just look at me and say 'I feel like some cotton candy, Champ, how 'bout you.' And off we'd go." He tilted his head at her.

"Champ?" She smiled and leaned back into him. He shifted automatically, standing and wrapping his arms around her waist. Nestling her head into the spot between shoulder and chest, she linked her fingers with his where they lay on her stomach.

"His nickname for me. Mother hated it even more than our little outings or him taking me to the field to shag some balls."

"Didn't approve?" he wondered. Laura gave the question some consideration before answering.

"Needless to say she didn't approve of him encouraging my interest in baseball. I don't think I really understood why she would get so put out when he took me to the circus, the boardwalk until I was well into adulthood. She was a housewife. Her entire life centered on keeping house, taking care of her family. She would spend most of the afternoon cooking dinner and on those days half the family would wander in late for dinner and stuffed from an afternoon of eating junk food. They had some terrific fights about it. I used to wonder…" She shook her head and let the thought fade. He gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Used to wonder what?" She closed her eyes taking a deep breath then exhaling.

"How much those fights contributed to him leaving," she admitted. He frowned.

"You were a child, Laura. Their marriage was theirs to break or make not yours." She shrugged.

"A child whose parents were constantly at odds over me. I was never enough for my mother, and she blamed my father for encouraging me to act the way I did. My father never understood why she was constantly criticizing me and made it a point to spend more time with me because of it, at least I think. It certainly didn't help." She closed her eyes and unknowingly flinched at the memory that had passed through her mind. "The night of my sweet sixteen… the night he left… they fought over me." She squeezed one of his hands. "I've never told anyone that."

"Not even Frances?" he asked quietly. Laura laughed sadly while shaking her head.

" _Especially_ Frances. We didn't have a very good relationship then. Like my mother, she was embarrassed by me, always asking why I couldn't just _try_ to be like other girls, not be such a rebel…not cause trouble all the time. It certainly didn't help that she was convinced I looked down on her for wanting nothing more than to be a wife, a mother. She saw my need for independence as… I don't know… a criticism of traditional middle class values in general and her specifically. The first time I can even remember us really talking to each other since we were little was when she came out to LA during that dental convention. Even then it didn't start off well. But it was a beginning." She felt Steele nod his head next to hers and fell silent again. Her mind wandered back to the night her father left. The memory had not lost its edge over the years, the harsh words, the anger, the venom still as powerful as it was then. Steele felt her tension as it mounted and nuzzled his cheek against hers.

"Tell me," he implored softly. Her fingers tightened around his, almost painfully as she inhaled as stuttering breath.

"I wanted to try out for the Varsity softball team that fall. As a sophomore. It was unheard of. You didn't make Varsity until you were at least a junior. But I knew that I could be the best shortstop and pitcher on the team. My Father had worked with me for years by then. I played Junior Varsity the year before and it simply was not challenging enough. So I decided to break the rules. Either I made Varsity or I didn't play at all, all or nothing." She fell quiet again.

"Sounds like an attitude I am well familiar with," he teased, trying to prod her into continuing. She smiled briefly.

"Mmmmmm," she hummed in agreement. "How did you put it last week? Hard-headed? No, head-strong." He winced, not realizing she'd overheard his petulant comment. "For better or worse I'm going to do what I want, no matter what the cost… to me… to others." Releasing his hands she took a couple steps forward to lean against the rail again. "My Mother had been after me from the moment I entered high school. 'It's time to stop this foolishness, Laura.' 'It's time to think about how you present yourself to the world. You'll never find yourself a suitable husband until you act like the young lady you were raised to be.' 'Enough with all the math classes, Laura. You need to take home economics like the other girls. You'll never find a suitable husband if you can't cook and keep a home.'" She shook her head and laughed. "I wanted to be more than that. More than…"

"Just flesh," he finished as he moved to lean next to her on the rail again, recalling vividly their conversation on the afternoon when she'd been shot.

" _Yes_ ," she agreed vehemently. "I didn't want to be defined by my gender and shoved into the role of housewife. I wanted…"

"More," he finished again, but this time she shook her head almost violently.

"Everything," she corrected. "I wanted to go to college. To have a career that I loved. A husband that was a partner and friend, not someone just to answer to, to be at his beck and call. Someone that knew I could stand on my own two feet, didn't need to be propped up… didn't want to be. To... to… to play baseball, enter a triathlon, sail a boat and not just sit on it as someone's decoration. To be a detective. To own a business that would allow me to not only do what I love but would allow me the flexibility to keep my career and have children one day. I wanted what men have by virtue of just being born a male." She petered out. "I wanted everything. Turning into my mother, Frances, was not going to give that to me."

"You wouldn't be Laura Holt if you didn't want it all. It's one of the things I've always enjoyed most about you, knowing what you want and settling for nothing less." She turned to him and smiled sadly.

"It's certainly never set well with Mother," she laughed sarcastically. "That night, at my party, my father gave me a new fielder's mitt. He wanted me to have enough time to break it in before try outs. It was the best present I'd ever received. In giving it to me he was telling me he believed I could defy the odds and make that Varsity team." She lifted a finger to her brow, began to rub. "That night they fought the worst I'd ever heard them. She was sick of him indulging me, helping me to defy her. It was his fault, she said, that I was the way I was. He was furious. I'd never heard him that angry. I heard something hit the wall, break. He screamed at her that he was sick of her. No one could ever measure up to her standards. It was no wonder I was determined not to fit into her mold, that I didn't want to be like her. He was sick of it all. He was done." She let out a shuddering breath, then finished. "The next morning he was gone, and he never came back." She turned her head to look at him, raised her brows and gave a small shrug to imply it didn't matter to her. He knew better.

"It wasn't your fault, Laura. Clearly they had issues that went well beyond whether or not you played baseball or baked cookies." She shrugged again, and turned to lean her back against the rails.

"Yes, but I certainly didn't help." He turned to face her, leaning a hip against the rail.

"So, did you make the team?" A smile lit up her face.

"I did, as the starting shortstop too." The smile faded as memories invaded again. "But it didn't last long."

"Why is that?" She crinkled her nose in response to the question.

"I played a few games, and then it just got too… hard. I think a part of me believed he would at least show up for my games. But, after a while I realized he'd not just left my Mother but he'd left Frances and me too. I thought he and I had something special, that I mattered, warts and all, at least to him. Yet, you can only pretend so long. He never wrote, called, came to see Frances or me. He was just gone. When I realized that, I quit the team."

"I can't imagine Laura Holt quitting anything, let alone something she'd worked so hard for," he mused aloud, then grinned as she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck loosely. His hands settled on her hips, drawing her closer.

"I needed to step away, focus on other things." Drawing his head down, she kissed him before he could delve too far into that last thought. When their lips parted, it was only so that she could tell him, "I'm hungry." He looked at her as though she'd finally gone berserk.

"How is that even possible, Laura? You've eaten half the boardwalk already." She laughed, then smiled up at him with a glint in her eyes.

"There are three secrets to great boardwalk eating, Mr. Steele." She lifted her lips towards his, then allowed her lips just to hover a fraction of a millimeter from his, as her fingers played with the tips of the hair at the nape of his neck. She watched as his eyes darkened at the sensation, her closeness. He leaned towards her and she dipped away before returning, a hand slipping under his coat so that her fingers could skim the length of his spine. She felt the shimmer run through his body, felt his back arch subtly towards the source of the pleasure. He leaned forward so their lips could connect and she slipped away again, only to return. His lips twitched, the tip of his tongue flicking against his upper lip. The hand from his back slipped around his waist, her fingers drawing feather-light, decadent designs across his abdomen, chest, shoulders, before settling to stroke the side of his neck. His eyes closed at the sensation, the low fire of desire that was always present when she was near threatening to ignite into an inferno. When he opened his eyes, looked down on hers, she saw his dilated pupils, knew she had stirred him sufficiently and touched her lips against his. His hand tangled in her hair immediately, pressed her mouth more firmly to his as his lips took over, teasing, exploring, before a tongue touched her lips and she opened to him. Her fingers deftly loosened two buttons on his shirt without conscious recognition by him. His mouth began to feed hungrily on hers, when with a gentle push of her hand against his chest she leaned her head away and looked up at him.

"First rule, anticipation is everything." He tried to draw her near again and she evaded. His lips quirked even as passion-soaked eyes tried to lure her back. She tweaked a brow at him, then her lips found the skin of his neck. She ran a series of slow, torturous nip-kisses from under is jaw to the base of his neck. He lost himself in her, his arms tightening around her hips, pressed her lower body more firmly against his. Finding the pulse of his carotid, her lips pulled then her tongue lathed. He hummed deep in his throat. Her lips lifted in a smile against his skin as she felt the very clear response of his body against hers. She nibbled her way across the collarbone she bared near his collar, before her lips returned to his. His hands released her hips to take the sides of her head in them. This time he plundered her mouth with fervor. When he ended the kiss they were both breathing heavily.

"Second rule," she managed breathily, "Always nibble to prolong your enjoyment."

"Wonderful rule," he murmured, as his lips found the column of her neck and he began a journey of his own. His lips stalled at the crook of her neck, enjoying the feel of her racing pulse underneath. He gently sucked the skin there in to his mouth drawing a soft gasp from her. He brushed his open lips back and forth across the damp skin before blowing softly against it. "And the third rule?" he asked, as his lips moved to the hollow of her neck. She blew out a soft breath, then forced herself to push away from him, putting distance between both mouths and bodies.

"Always, always…" she spoke huskily, "leave when still wanting more so that you can anticipate your next visit." Grabbing him by the hand, she gave a tug, and he reluctantly followed.

"I must say, Miss Holt, the first two rules are far preferable to the last," he grumbled playfully.

"Mmmm, but just think of all the possibilities the next time may bring, Mr. Steele." She passed a heated glance over the length of his body, watched as he twitched, then laughed.

"Laura," he growled lowly in his throat, then chuckled as well.

As they strolled hand-in-hand back down the pier towards the boardwalk, companionable silence shrouded them. Steele realized that Laura had given him another clue to her past, a big one. He'd known for years that her abandonment issues stemmed from her father leaving, then Wilson. What he'd not known is that at least a part of her believed she'd helped drive him away. Even more concerning? Her words that she'd believed she'd meant something to him… at least. How many people had allowed her to believe that she was not enough, always lacking something? Her mother, father, sister and Wilson, obviously. Each key players in her life. She'd not been enough for any of them. _Bloody fools,_ he thought to himself, _how could you not see what a treasure she is?_

He learned a couple of things about himself on the boardwalk that afternoon as well. Even in carnie games she was fiercely competitive, often playfully mocking him, and other times getting quietly irritated that he was besting her. He learned that the cinnamon sugar from the elephant ears that he'd kissed off of the corner of her mouth reminded him of the freckles sprinkling her skin. And cotton candy kisses were preferable even over chocolate ones. He made a note to himself to look into where to purchase the spun sugar treat when they returned to LA. Oh, and to make a list of every boardwalk in the state and plan a visit to each one.

On Laura's part, she learned a couple things too. Despite his complaints about rigged carnie games he shot a mean water pistol, trouncing her soundly again and again. He was completely hopeless at the ring toss, muttering each time his ring skittered across the bottles that the game was "most assuredly, supremely rigged.' Yet, when it came to darts, the man could pop those deflated balloons with a hand over his eyes, and by shooting the darts over his shoulder with his back turned to the board. Most importantly however, she learned that cinnamon sugar mean sweet kisses rained across a cheek, starting at the corner of her mouth and ending at her ear. And cotton candy meant soft, teasing kisses that curled her toes. She might need to start keeping a stash at her loft… for desert, of course.

They reluctantly left the boardwalk at two-thirty to make the trek across town in order to arrive at the matinee of _42_ _nd_ _Street_ on time. Sated by their little rendezvous in the limo earlier, a substantial amount of midday sun, a considerable amount of walking and, on Laura's behalf, an enormous amount of food, Steele leaned back into the corner of the seat in the limo, stretching out his legs across the seat and pulled Laura between his legs to recline her back against him. They dozed that way until a tap on a window turned to a loud rap, waking them both. Groggily they pulled themselves from the limo, and gracefully stumbled their way into the Majestic.

The Broadway rendition of the show, they both agreed, far surpassed the performance by Toni and Teri that they'd seen two years before.

They arrived back at the hotel with an hour and half to spare, during which time they would need to shower, dress for the evening and pack up their belongings in preparation for their return to LA that evening. Laura had insisted upon separate showers, knowing that a shared one would only lead to more explorations of one another's bodies which would all but guarantee they would miss their dinner reservations. She did, however, agree that they share the bathroom for their preparatory rituals. They were on schedule and even a couple of minutes ahead, when she slid into her dress, and he slipped into his suit.

It was then that bright blue eyes caught her in their sites and ran hungrily over her body. In the blink of an eye, she found her back tucked against a chest, an arm around her waist, and a pair of lips worshipping the freckles across her shoulders. Her hand traveled across a shoulder to lay against the back of his neck to rumple the hair against his collar.

"We don't have time for this," she sing-songed to him.

"We're on vacation. There's always time for this," he disagreed, his warm breath trickling across her shoulder as he spoke to be chased by soft lips, stirring up delicious sensations in her abdomen.

"I'm hungry," she told him between presses of her lips against his neck. That gave him pause. Lifting his head from her shoulder he gave her a sidelong glance.

"You can't be serious," he uttered before he could stop himself, and was answered with a laugh.

"Very hungry." With an exaggerated sigh, he bussed her on the neck, then stepped away to pick up her coat. Holding it out, he assisted her into it, lifting her hair over the collar, before stepping to her side.

"Dinner awaits, then, Miss Holt." Pressing a hand to her back, he guided her, albeit it reluctantly, from the suite.

Dinner at the famed New York restaurant, the Four Seasons, was another fine affair, and a perfect way, in Laura's opinion, to wrap up their time in the city. Still, by the time they were on their way to the airport, both she and Steele were more than ready to get back home. After arriving at their departure gate, Laura was dismayed when it was announced their flight had been delayed while a minor problem with the plane was addressed. Two hours later, the planes wheels finally touched off the tarmac, its nose pointed towards the west coast. Given the early hour at which they'd awakened that morning and their very active day, both were content to simply lean into each other and doze lightly, even forgoing their traditional champagne toast. Steele gained a second wind about an hour into the flight and decided to take a shot that a sleepy Miss Holt would be a pliable Miss Holt. When he brushed his fingers lightly against her cheek, she tilted her head up where it lay against his shoulder and looked and him groggily.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek. She blinked, slow to respond.

"It's Sunday. Tomorrow's a workday," she reminded him, as sleepy fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt. Picking up her hand, he caressed the pads of her fingertips with his lips before clasping it in his hand and tucking both hands against his chest.

"It's just one night, Laura. I don't want to let you go yet." She squeezed the hand that held hers.

"I don't want to either. But we have an agreement." He sighed deeply, regretfully, at her words, knowing she'd not relent.

"That we do. Sunday night our time together comes to an end." She nestled her head against his shoulder.

"You know our motto." His lips quirked.

"All too well, I'm afraid. Business before pleasure. Can't break with tradition." She nodded sleepily.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Mr. Steele." He bussed the top of her head.

"So am I, Miss Holt. But I suspect we'll both survive our disappointment." She laughed softly.

"Yes, I suspect we will."

They dozed on and off the rest of the flight, then wearily trudged their way through the airport to collect their luggage before flagging down a taxi at the curb. They both battled the urge to fall back to sleep on the twenty minute drive to her loft. When the taxi at last pulled up to the curb, Steele climbed out wearily, followed by Laura.

"The next time we get invited to a weekend wedding bash in New York, remind me not to eat everything in sight," she complained as the driver came round to open the trunk. Her stomach had been churning miserably since dinner, the unfortunate side effect of overstuffing herself across the day.

"You certainly took quite the bite out of the Big Apple," Steele agreed, wearily. "Ate everything except the worm I'd say." He turned to give the driver instructions. "Just the lady's bags, thank you very much." Slinging her overnight bag over his shoulder and grabbing her suitcase in hand, he followed her as they both trudged slowly up the steps on the outside of her building, stopping at the front door. "Nothing personal, Laura. I just don't think I've the energy to coax you into a romantic interlude."

"That's alright," she assured him. "I don't think I've got the energy to thwart your attempts anyway."

"Oh, well, on the other hand, I think I just got my second wind," he teased half-heartedly. Laura gave his attempt at humor a small smile, before kissing him goodnight.

"See you in the morning," she told him, taking her suitcases from him.

"Yes, of course," he said, finding himself still disappointed although the matter had already been decided on the plane. "In the morning. Why break tradition, eh?" Laura nodded.

"Exactly."

She entered the building as Steele made his way back down to the taxi, smacking his lips, still tasting her on them. He returned to the taxi sluggishly, gratefully folding himself into the seat and shutting the door. "The Rossmore," he instructed the driver, then leaned back and closed his eyes for the fifteen-minute drive.

Stepping out of the elevator on the fifth floor of the Rossmore, Steele paused, trying to wrap his head around the yellow police tape cordoning off the door to his apartment. Walking up to the door, he curiously fingered the recently installed padlock on his door. Hearing the phone ringing inside, he pulled his pick kit from his pocket and worked the lock. Getting the door open in short order, he headed directly to the phone, but picking it up found the caller had already disconnected. Returning to the front door he flicked on the living room lights then could do little else but stand there and frown in disbelief at the taped outlines of two bodies on his living room floor, dried blood staining his carpet where the heads would have been.

Little did he know, but he and Laura were about to find themselves living on the streets he had lifted himself out from many years before.


End file.
